The  Vagabond  himself  under  a  white  flag  rode  beside  her 


THE  VAGABOND 


Illustrated  by 
HARRISON  FISHER 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK    «    :    :    j    :    t    :    J906 


COPYRIGHT,  1903.  BY 
COLLIER'S    WEEKLY 

COPYRIGHT,  1903,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published,  September.  1909 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.    A  CRUST  MAT  BE  SWEET 1 

II.     FOUR  OP  THE  Six  INCHES 18 

III.  AND  FOUR  PROVE  ENOUGH 24 

IV.  IF  You  HOLD  YOUR  HEAD  HIGH     ....     33 
V.    AND  SMILE  AT  OGRES 43 

VI.  OR  STIFF  OLD  DRILL  SERGEANTS     ....     55 

VII.  UNLESS  THEY  TAKE  TO  REASONING        ...     66 

VIII.  WHEN  You  MUST  START  AFRESH     ....     78 

IX.  FEARING  NOT  A  JUDICIAL  MIEN       ....     84 

X.  BUT  MEETING  LOGIC  WITH  FAITH    ....     90 

XI.  THAT  WINS  You  A  PASSAGE     .....     98 

XII.    To  THE  RAINBOW'S  END 110 

XIII.  WHICH  is  PLACER,  NOT  QUARTZ       .       .       .       .   118 

XIV.  ENTER  JIMMY  POOL 127 

XV.  IMPULSE  BETRAYS  A  SECRET     .....  137 

XVI.    THE  MISTS  ON  THE  PLAIN 141 

XVII.    Miss  FELICIA  AS  AN  AUNT 149 

XVIII.     His  HORSE  CASTS  A  SHOE 157 

XIX.    THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR 166 

XX.  WITH  EVERY  MAN'S  DUTY  PLAIN    .       ,       .       .181 

XXI.    To  HER  DOOR  BY  FORCE 188 

XXII.  FOLLY  TAKES  BREAKER'S  PLACE      ....  203 

XXIII.    WAR  SHOULD  BB  IMPERSONAL 217 

V 


2137S98 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

XXIV.    A  TARGET  FOE  HER  SAKE 223 

XXV.    FATHER  BOB  ILLUSTRATES 235 

XXVI.  BULLETS  HAVE  No  SENTIMENT  ....  242 

XXVII.  AT  LAST  A  CHARGE       ......  247 

XXVIII.  NOT  THE  SAME  FELICIA     *•#":>       .       .       .  258 

XXIX.  NEEDING  AN  EXCUSE  .       .       .       .       .       .  274 

XXX.  HE  TELLS  His  STORY    .       .       .      ". '?  '".       .  283 

XXXI.  A  RULE  OF  WAR    .       .    '    .       .       .    '  i       .295 

XXXII.  "You,  AGAIN!"     .    ''.-'     .       .      ;.  '    ''.       .  303 

XXXIII.  IN  HER  KEEPING  .       .       .       ;     '.       i       .311 

XXXIV.  DEEPER  THAN  SHE  THOUGHT     .       .''  '.       .  318 
XXXV.  THE  GENERAL  DRINKS  ALONE    .       .       ;       .  323 

XXXVI.      SOUTHBRIDGE   APPEARS 328 

XXXVII.  WHEN  THE  BACK-LOG  FELL        .       .       .       .337 

XXXVIII.    SABRE  TO  SABRE 348 

XXXIX.    UNCERTAINTY     •  ;v 361 

XL.    THE  LONG  WAIT .  373 

XLI.  A  SERVANT  OF  THE  LANLEYS      .       .       .       .  383 

XLII.    A  RECOGNITION 390 

XLIII.    WHICH  HAS  LIMITS 401 

XLIV.    To  RISK  is  TO  PAY 409 

XLV.    WHEN  LIFE  CALLS 415 

XLVI.  To  LIE  AND  LIE  WELL        .       .       .       .       .423 

XLVII.    JIMMY  RECONSIDERS 431 

XLVIII.    MARCUS,  THE  STRATEGIST 441 

XLIX.    A  CHOICE  OF  FUTURES 454 

L.  BACK  TO  LANLEYTON    ,                                    .  463 


n 


THE    VAGABOND 

PART   I 
I 

A    CRUST    MAY    BE    SWEET 

You  of  the  East  know  the  house,  a  type  of  the 
rirst  quarter  of  the  late  century,  as  do  you  of  the 
West  who  have  retraced  your  own  or  your  father's 
brave  migratory  steps.  It  stands  some  distance  back 
from  the  road,  repelling  gossip  with  passers-by,  a 
monument  to  a  man  who  invited  an  early  grave  for 
the  sake  of  his  posterity.  Firs  and  elms  shade  the 
porch  where  the  builder  never  sat  except  on  warm 
Sunday  afternoons,  when  he  rested  by  worrying 
about  the  crops.  If  it  is  in  good  repair,  then  either 
all  the  sons  have  not  been  scattered  by  the  four 
winds  of  industrial  change  or  some  "hired  man"  of 
Jim  Hawkins's  type  has  had  his  turn  at  grubbing  the 
hill-side  for  a  rise  in  the  world.  If  the  bricks  are 
tumbling  from  the  spreading  chimney-top;  if  the 
steps  have  rotted  and  fallen  away;  if  the  ridges  of  the 
clapboards  are  so  many  brown,  weather-worn  lines,  in 
a  land  where  youth  passes  into  age  which  begets  new 
youth  swiftly  and  confidently,  then  it  is  only  dismal: 
a  little  too  common  between  the  Alleghenies  and  the 
Atlantic  to  be  pathetic,  unless  it  happens  that  you 

I 


THE    VAGABOKD 

were  born  there  and  your  misfortunes  tell  you  that 
of  all  that  the  close-fisted  man  planted,  only  the  trees 
thrive. 

In  the  forties  when  the  boy  dwelt  there,  no  hand 
was  lifted  to  stay  the  swift  ruin  of  that  homestead 
which  concerns  us  only  so  far  as  it  outlines  the  in- 
ception of  a  vagabond's  fancy.  He  recalled  indis- 
tinctly a  pilgrimage  from  some  distant  place  with 
Ann.  Thin,  angular,  undemonstrative,  with  auto- 
matic precision  she  bathed  him,  fed  him,  and  put  him 
to  bed.  He  thought  of  her  as  nevo?  smiling,  as  only 
blinking  like  the  sedate  andirons  in  front  of  the  fire- 
place. Not  until  the  day  of  her  departure,  when  he 
was  five,  did  she  show  any  sentiment  beyond  -the 
woodeny  "Lay  me  down  to  sleep"  that  she  had  taught 
him.  Jim  Hawkins's  blackboard  was  at  the  side  door ; 
her  hair-trunk  was  under  the  seat,  and  her  tongue 
was  once  more  her  own,  when  she  suddenly  threw  her 
arms  around  her  late  charge,  smothering  in  a 
motherly  kiss  her  cry  that  he  was  a  poor  little  dear. 
A  big  hand  swept  between  them.  Ann,  frightened 
at  her  temerity,  hastily  stepped  into  the  buckboard 
without  looking  back  as  Hawkins  drove  away.  A 
voice  from  above  the  big  hand,  which  had  returned 
to  its  listless  attitude  in  the  trousers'  pocket  at  about 
the  height  of  the  boy's  head,  drawled : 
"William,  that's  the  last  of  the  women." 
Thitherto,  as  he  recalled  it  in  later  years,  the  boy's 
idea  of  his  father  had  been  of  something  large  and 
indefinite,  as  a  ship  bulking  through  a  fog.  In  the 
flash  of  a  camera's  shutter  a  new  impression  of  frigid 
detail,  as  clear  as  the  outlines  of  a  leafless  tree  against 
the  snow,  was  formed  for  all  time.  He  saw  the  wreck 

2 


THE  VAGABOND 

of  a  fine,  tall  figure,  slouching  and  stooping,  in  a 
rusty  suit;  a  high  nose,  thin  at  the  bridge  and  thin 
at  the  nostrils;  a  thin-lipped  mouth  with  drooping 
corners ;  a  lump  of  a  chin  dimly  outlined  through  an 
untrimmed,  sparse  beard,  which  began  well  below  the 
cheek-bones;  the  whole  furrowed  and  criss-crossed  too 
deeply  for  its  age  by  self-indulgence,  ill-sitting  pride, 
disappointment,  and  indecision,  and  yet  somewhat  re- 
deemed by  the  high,  capacious  forehead,  which  was 
at  best  only  a  storehouse. 

In  that  moment  when,  after  one  of  his  brief  and 
rare  splurges  of  resolute  action,  the  elder's  mind  had 
flown  to  some  wandering  recollection,  William  Will- 
iams, Jr.,  slipped  away  unobserved  and  ran  to  the 
front  door  and  called  to  the  passing  buckboard: 

"Good-by,  Ann!  You  were  good,  oh,  so  good,  if 
you  always  were  so  sober.  Good-by,  Ann!  I  love 
you!" 

Hawkins  drove  on  mercilessly  at  a  trot.  Poor 
Ann's  face  lighted  as  it  had  not  during  her  whole 
period  of  service.  She  partly  rose  in  her  seat  and 
called  back  in  gulps: 

"I  had  to  be  that  way  to  keep  my  place  and  get 
my  pay!  The  sunshine  wuz  there  when  you  wuz 
there.  You  wait — you  wait!  You  shed  your  mis- 
ery like  the  duck  does  the  rain.  You  wait  till  you're 
big  enough  and  then  you  run  away — you  run  away'1 
— the  last  words  came  with  the  terror  of  conscience- 
driven  courage. 

"I  will!"  the  boy  said,  decidedly,  as  much  to  him- 
self as  to  Ann,  who  was  already  out  of  hearing. 

In  such  a  setting,  poetic  justice  may  demand  that 
young  William  should  have  had  deep,  soulful  eyes, 

3 


THE    VAGABOND 

wan  cheeks,  and  a  peaked  chin,  with  a  head  too 
heavy  for  its  supporting  column;  that  he  should  have 
been  an  unsuccessful  dreamer,  who  would  make  life 
a  weary  course,  with  sad  reflections  on  self  at  every 
step.  He  was  nothing  of  the  kind;  was  to  be  noth- 
ing of  the  kind,  no  matter  how  thick  the  shafts  of 
adversity.  When  Tragedy  precipitated  him  into  the 
world  she  must  have  been  repentant  and  envious  of 
the  cheer  which  finds  its  crust  as  sweet  as  the 
promise  of  the  cake  it  aims  to  win. 

Well  might  his  father,  looking  into  the  mirror  and 
then  at  his  son,  have  cried  out  that  he  had  an  alien 
at  his  board — as  he  had,  except  in  blood.  For  young 
"William  was  equipped  with  a  chin;  his  nose  was 
short;  his  head  round,  and  two  bumps  of  perception 
and  quizzical  fancy  overhung  his  keen,  dancing  eyes 
of  a  blue  that  does  not  fade.  Under  the  gas-light  of 
a  drawing-room  they  might  have  seemed  too  solid 
and  prominent  of  color.  In  the  open,  in  a  great 
emergency,  they  promised  to  be  as  tranquil  as  the 
midsummer  sky.  And  the  more  the  offspring  was 
unlike  the  parent,  the  more  the  parent,  if  he  had  such 
a  thing  as  a  consistent  object,  wanted  to  make  him 
like. 

The  son  was  still  watching  the  cloud  of  dust  rolling 
along  between  the  two  fences  of  the  highway  when 
his  father  materialized  at  his  side  and  turned  him 
around  with  an  abrupt  pressure  on  the  shoulder. 

"This  is  a  man's  house  now!"  he  almost  shouted; 
which  was  saying  that,  it  was  less  than  a  woman's, 
not  even  a  boy's.  "Come!  I'll  have  no  petticoats 
teaching  you,  but  you've  got  to  learn." 

He  led  him  into  the  library,  and,  placing  him  on 


THE    VAGABOND 

a  high-backed  chair  next  to  the  wall,  began  a  cate- 
chism on  the  spelling  of  short  words. 

"That's  enough  now,"  he  said,  after  an  hour  or 
more.  "You'll  begin  your  Latin  next  year." 

William  had  borne  the  trial  patiently,  struggling 
hard  with  the  tri-syllables  to  escape  censure.  He 
had  already  learned  the  folly  of  putting  unscholas- 
tic  questions.  Yet  now,  in  juvenile  wonder,  as  the 
idea  came  to  him,  he  asked  on  the  impulse: 

"Father,  did  you  ever  laugh?" 

William,  Sr.,  put  up  his  hands  spasmodically,  and 
looked  everywhere  except  at  William,  Jr. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,  I  have,  fool  that  I  was!"  he  re- 
plied, tragically;  and,  seizing  his  hat  and  stick,  he 
rushed  out  of  the  house.  From  the  window  the  boy 
saw  him  going  across  the  fields  in  great  strides,  driv- 
ing his  stick  into  the  ground  with  every  step,  as  if 
pinioning  so  many  hated  recollections. 

His  story  was  an  old  one,  exceptional  only  in  the 
way  he  took  it.  Because  he  had  been  "smart"  at 
books  he  had  been  given  a  "grand"  education  to 
make  him  superior  to  his  surroundings.  Alas!  he 
had  taken  the  intention  for  the  fact,  and  gone  to  the 
city  in  the  full  swing  of  petty  confidence.  The  city 
had  dealt  him  one  of  those  broadsword  blows  with 
which  the  Deity  of  striving  numbers  tests  those 
whom  she  tries  for  high  places,  and  this  candidate 
retreated  to  nurse  his  wound  with  the  lasting  irritant 
of  his  chagrin. 

All  this  the  neighbors  knew  and  took  it  for  fuel 
for  sarcasm  or  for  felicitations  to  the  fortune  of  the 
first  Williams  in  having  died  before  it  came  about. 
They  also  knew  that  it  was  none  of  their  business — 

5 


THE  VAGABOND 

when  it  came  to  the  point  of  being  a  good  thing  for 
Jim  Rawkins.  Jim  was  the  only  human  being  with 
whom  the  father  ever  spoke,  though  if  in  the  humor 
he  might  nod  to  anyone  whom  he  met  in  the  road 
when  he  went  to  Jim's  to  get  pastry  and  clean  linen, 
which  were  a  part  of  the  earning  power  of  thin,  stoop- 
shouldered  Mrs.  Rawkins. 

Jim's  squat  two  stories,  with  its  great  barn  adjoin- 
ing, was  the  only  house  visible,  the  only  one,  besides 
his  own,  that  the  boy  had  ever  seen  except  in  books. 
Beyond  it  was  a  knoll  which  hid  the  village  and  the 
rest  of  the  world.  To  the  north  were  the  woods,  and 
in  all  directions  were  fields  of  snow  in  winter,  fields 
of  green  in  spring,  and  fields  of  gold  in  autumn.  Ex- 
panses and  bold,  clear  strokes  rather  than  etchings 
appealed  to  him.  He  loved  the  snow,  the  green,  and 
the  gold;  he  loved  even  more  the  dome  of  the  sky 
when  it  was  a  still  blue ;  and  he  loved  most  a  thunder- 
storm, when  he  would  press  his  face  against  the  win- 
dow-pane and  smile  delightedly  over  each  clap,  while 
his  father,  in  a  corner,  instinctively  flinched.  Above 
all  things,  he  hated  a  drizzling,  rainy  day,  which  re- 
minded him  of  his  father's  scraggly  beard,  obscuring 
the  hills  as  the  beard  did  the  chin.  A  great  pine  on 
the  edge  of  the  woods,  clean-trunked  to  a  height  of  a 
hundred  feet,  pointed  a  finger  majestically  toward 
the  west.  This  was  his  favorite  object  on  the  land- 
scape. Near  its  roots  ran  a  stream,  rollicking  past 
the  knoll  into  the  unknown  as  if  trying  to  escape  from 
the  darkness,  winding  and  glistening.  The  stream 
where  it  gurgled  over  the  stones  seemed  a  good  place 
to  play.  He  could  not  take  it  seriously  as  he  did  the 
tree,  whose  magnificence  appealed  to  his  heart. 

6 


THE  VAGABOND 

For  more  than  a  year  after  Ann's  departure  he 
knew  no  companion  except  his  lessons  and  his  father. 
Then  he  made  his  first  friend.  Often  he  had  watched 
Rawkins's  farm-hands  working  in  the  fields,  envying 
their  activity.  One  of  them,  of  six  feet  two  or  three, 
had  particularly  interested  him.  The  giant  reminded 
the  boy  of  the  pine-tree,  even  as  Jim  Rawkins  re- 
minded him  of  a  twisted  shrub.  On  a  June  day, 
when  desire  overleapt  parental  warning  and  his  father 
aodded  over  a  book,  he  approached  his  hero. 

"My  name's  William  Williams.  I'm  the  little  boy 
that  lives  in  the  old  house  yonder,"  he  said,  tentatively. 

The  giant  stopped  heaping  the  warm  earth  around 
the  green  shoots  and,  throwing  back  his  head,  broke 
into  a  roaring  laugh,  which  gained  in  volume  till  it 
finally  cracked.  William,  Jr.,  was  in  doubt  whether 
or  not  he  would  better  run.  He  concluded  to  stay. 

"My  name's  Tim  Booker,"  the  giant  replied,  final- 
ly, when  his  mirth  had  been  reduced  to  the  limits  of 
as  expansive  a  grin  as  his  broad  mouth  could  master, 
"and  I'm  hoeing  corn  twenty-four  hours  a  day  for 
Mister  James  Rawkins  for  sixteen  dollars  a  month. 
Figure  that  out  for  yourself,  if  you  know  arithmetic." 

Thereupon,  Tim  took  a  corn-cob  pipe  out  of  his 
pocket  and  began  filling  it,  enjoying  the  attitude  of 
the  boy,  who  regarded  him  sharply  and  dubiously  and 
finally  said,  with  portentous  conviction: 

"Twenty-four's  all  the  hours  there  are  in  a  day. 
When  do  you  sleep,  Tim  ?" 

At  that,  Tim  roared  again.  William,  Jr.,  had 
heard  very  little  laughter;  he  had  never  dreamed  of 
such  a  laugh  as  this.  He  liked  the  life  and  move- 
mint  of  it.  He  liked  Tim  for  all  time. 

7 


THE  VAGABOND 

"Honest  Injun,"  Tim  rejoined,  "I  guess  sixteen 
hours  is  nearer  right."  He  bent  over  his  interlocutor, 
mischief  triumphant  in  his  glance:  "You've  founr1 
me  out,  bub.  Ordinary  things  you  can  see  for  yourseli. 
When  you  say  'em,  it's  wearing  on  the  spirits  and 
makes  plain  vittles  taste  no  better  than  they  are. 
What's  the  use  of  talking  unless  you  talk  big?  That's 
my  motto.  Why,  sometimes  when  the  sods  are  tough 
and  the  stones  thick  I  just  make  it  up  that  I'm  one 
of  them  mediaeval  knights  that  I've  read  about,  a-rid- 
ing  toward  his  castle  on  a  horse  that  cuffs  his  ears 
with  every  step,  he's  so  prancing,  and  I  say,  'Hoe, 
warder,  hoe!'  and  it  helps  a  lot." 

"When  you  talk  big  your  eyes  twinkle,  don't  they, 
Tim?  And  when  you  talk  straight  they're  like  the 
water  in  the  pool." 

Thus  they  had  a  basis  of  understanding  at  once. 

For  his  temerity,  William,  Jr.,  was  whipped  and 
set  upon  his  high-backed  chair  and  made  to  conju- 
gate "to  be"  in  Latin  twice,  and  still  he  was  uncon- 
quered.  Square  chin  meeting  a  lump  of  a  chin,  some 
compromise  was  inevitable.  It  was  agreed  that  he 
might  talk  to  the  farm-hand  when  Tim  was  in  either 
of  the  fields  nearest  to  the  house. 

How  Tim  helped!  The  prisoner  followed  him  in 
the  corn-rows  of  spring  and  the  swaths  of  harvest, 
listening  to  his  tales,  rejoicing  in  his  laugh,  yet  not 
seeing  too  much  of  his  friend  to  excite  more  than 
his  father's  passing  displeasure.  The  cunning  of  the 
hunted  was  his  from  necessity.  He  knew  that  if  he 
ran  away  before  he  was  large  enough  to  run  well, 
he  would  be  caught;  and  he  waited,  in  a  cheery  confi- 
dence that  one  day  he  would  depart  and  keep  on  going 

8 


THE    VAGABOND 

until  he  had  seen  all  the  world.  Of  nothing  was  he 
BO  certain  as  that  after  his  release  he  would  never 
want  to  stay  long  in  any  one  place,  but  would  always 
be  on  the  go.  In  an  old  geography,  soon  after 
Ann  had  gone,  he  had  seen  a  wood-cut  of  a  famous 
peak.  That  was  far  more  magnificent  than  the  pine- 
tree  ;  indeed,  it  carried  pine-trees  on  its  back  as  easily 
as  a  draught-horse  a  fly.  Thenceforth,  his  greatest 
ambition  was  to  climb  a  mountain.  He  would  lie  on 
his  back  on  a  summer's  day  and  see  a  range  of  peaks 
cutting  the  horizon  in  every  direction.  His  other  di- 
version was  making  pictures.  The  father  tore  up  his 
sketches  and  took  his  pencils  away,  and  still  he  kept 
on  drawing. 

The  secret  of  his  coming  excursion  into  the  world 
he  kept  from  Tim — even  from  Tim — for  some  time, 
as  he  did  for  many  years  another  secret  whose  origin 
dated  from  one  of  his  visits  to  a  pool  in  the  wood  near 
the  pine.  There  he  saw  a  little  girl  on  hands  and 
knees  on  the  fallen  tree  that  had  dammed  the  brook, 
all  intent  upon  the  water  beneath.  He  had  seen  girls 
before,  passing  in  buggies,  but  he  had  never  spoken 
to  any  of  them.  This  one  might  have  fallen  from 
the  skies  so  far  as  any  earthly  connection  was  con- 
cerned. He  approached  cautiously,  as  to  a  covey,  by 
a  detour  which  brought  him  to  the  bank  a  few  yards 
behind  the  phenomenon.  A  patch  of  sunlight  glinted 
upon  the  phenomenon's  hair,  which  had  the  color  and 
sheen  of  a  chestnut  just  out  of  the  burr.  Splash !  A 
pebble  was  dropped  into  the  water  and  a  small  voice 
from  the  Vision,  which  was  intent  on  the  ripples, 
piped : 

"Now  it's  not  a  mirror !     Now  it's  a  lake !" 
9 


THE    VAGABOND 

The  boy  realized,  with  his  already  quick  grasp  of 
any  situation  which  lay  within  his  sight,  that  her 
life  was  in  his  hands.  If  he  were  to  startle  her,  being 
such  a  very  little  girl,  she  would  fall  in.  He  must 
remain  quiet,  in  the  hope  that  she  would  return  safely 
to  the  bank. 

The  water  grew  still. 

"Now  you've  come  back,"  said  the  voice,  which  was 
softer  than  any  he  knew,  that  of  a  Southern  clime. 
"How  do  you  do,  little  girl?  Why  don't  you  say  'how 
do  you  do,'  too  ?  You're  not  very  polite.  I'll  put  you 
in  the  dark  closet.  You  sha'n't  have  any  ice-cream 
for  a  week." 

Ice-cream  must  be  something  very  good,  the  boy 
supposed ;  he  had  never  tasted  it. 

Another  pebble  dropped — her  last.  Childhood  had 
pursued  one  fancy  long  enough.  She  clapped  her 
hands  at  the  sight  of  a  lily  of  the  valley,  whose  soli- 
tary root  clung  to  the  naked  earth  of  the  bank,  and 
began,  with  what  she  thought  was  the  greatest  care, 
to  slip  down  from  the  log  toward  it  and  certain  dis- 
aster. 

With  that  keenness  of  eye  for  position  of  objects 
of  one  who  had  gazed  across  the  fields  so  much  and 
seen  so  little  of  men,  the  place  for  every  step  between 
him  and  the  log  was  mapped  in  his  mind.  He  sprang 
f orward  lightly  and  surefootedly  and  grasped  the  sash 
of  her  pinafore. 

"A  boy's  got  you!  Don't  cry!"  he  said,  with  the 
assurance  of  chivalry. 

All  unsuspicious  of  danger,  she  glanced  back  at  him 
with  the  matter-of-factness  of  playing  house;  for  she 
was  used  to  the  appearance  of  allies  to  aid  her  to  her 
heart's  desires. 

10 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Hold  on  tight!"  she  admonished.  "I  can  just 
weach  it." 

As  he  assisted  her  to  the  bank  she  was  in  nowise 
conscious  of  the  part  that  he  had  played.  He  was 
as  slow  to  mention  it  as  he  would  have  been  twenty 
years  later.  The  joy  of  a  deed  itself  was  ever  enough 
for  him.  He  felt  a  glow  of  triumph  such  as  could 
never  spring  from  a  lesson  well  learned.  She  scruti- 
nized him  in  the  manner,  however  young,  of  class  con- 
fronting class.  In  return,  he  scrutinized  her  as  if 
she  were  a  new  species  of  humanity.  His  gaze  hung 
on  two  features,  which  he  was  always  to  remember: 
the  tiny  mole  on  her  chin  and  her  hair.  She  was  the 
first  to  speak. 

"What  is  your  name,  little  boy?" 

As  she  asked  the  question,  the  mole  on  her  chin 
blinked  oddly,  charmingly,  into  a  dimple.  He  had 
never  seen  anything  human  like  this  smile.  He  be- 
held it  in  a  kind  of  enchanted  surprise  to  find  that  the 
world  contained  any  face  so  unlined  by  care.  The 
glow  of  it  permeated  him  and  made  eight  years  con- 
fronting five  seem  a  giant  capable  of  mighty  things. 

"But  I'm  not  a  little  boy,"  he  said,  wrathfully. 

"You're  not  a — a  man,"  she  replied,  judicially 
shaking  her  head.  "If  you're  not  a  little  boy,  you're 
a  boy.  What's  your  name,  boy?" 

"William  Williams." 

"How  can  it  be?  Boys  aren't  called  John  Johns 
,and  Tom  Toms.  What  is  your  other  name  'side 
Williams?" 

"William  Williams's  all  I  know,"  he  replied. 

"How  funny!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  sat  down  at 
the  foot  of  the  pine.  "William  Williams  is  like 

11 


THE    VAGABOND 

church.  I  know  two  Williams  and  they're  both 
Billies  for  short.  I'll  call  you  Billy.  Thank  you, 
Billy,  for  coming  to  play  with  me,  and  do  sit  down. 
I  was  quite  lonely,"  continued  the  Vision.  "Do  you 
ever  get  lonely,  Billy?" 

"Do  I!"  He  drew  a  deep  breath.  "Whew!  Do  I! 
Do  you  have  lots  of  boys  and  girls  to  play  with?" 

"My,  yes!  There's  a  whole  ring  around  the  rosey 
of  us  at  the  Post — Jack  and  Harry  and  Mary  and 
Alice  and  Tommy — lots  of  us;  and  lots  of  soldiers, 
and  the  band  plays,  and  once  papa  let  me  stay  up 
and  I  peeked  in  at  a  real  ball." 

"What  is  a  post  ?" 

"It's  the  place  where  the  army  lives;  big  barracks 
for  the  men  and  houses  for  the  officers;  two  big  pil- 
lars in  front  and  the  sentry  walking  up  and  down 
looking  just  as  neat  and  smart  as  he  can,  so's  not  to 
be  scolded  or  put  in  the  guard-house.  The  guard- 
house's  his  dark  closet." 

"What  is  a  real  ball?" 

"A  ball!  You  don't  know  what  a  ball  is,  either? 
Well,  you  are  a  little  boy!" 

"A  big  boy  that  doesn't  know  much,  I  guess,"  he 
said,  earnestly.  "I  live  in  the  old  house  over  there. 
My  father  won't  let  me  go  anywhere  and — you — 
you're  the  first  little  girl  I've  ever  talked  to." 

The  Vision  shut  her  lips  tight  and  shook  her  finger 
severely  at  him. 

"Billy  Williams,"  she  said,  slowly,  "it's  naughty 
to  tell  Hes." 

"I'm  not  lying!    It's  true!" 

"Cross  your  heart  and  hope  to  die  ?"  she  pursued, 
•olomnlj. 

12 


THE  VAGABOND 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

"Billy  Williams,"  she  replied,  with  puckering  brow, 
"I  guess  the  stork  kept  you  in  his  pocket  by  mistake 
till  you  was  'most  growed  up  and  just  borned  you 
this  morning." 

Childhood,  having  explained  a  mystery  in  child- 
hood's way — even  as  the  miracles  of  peoples  were 
made — proceeded  to  enlighten  ignorance  by  taking 
the  boy's  hands  in  hers  and  crossing  them  over  his 
breast. 

"Cross  my  heart  and  hope  to  die  I'm  telling  the 
truth,"  he  repeated.  "And  I've  never  talked  to  a 
little  boy,  either." 

After  this  test  and  having  her  theory  of  the  ab- 
sent-mindedness of  the  stork  in  view,  she  was  quite 
prepared  for  anything. 

He  longed  to  do  something  to  demonstrate  that  he 
was  not  as  insignificant  as  his  ignorance  made  him 
seem.  A  butterfly  which  lighted  near-by  became  his 
opportunity. 

"I'll  catch  it  for  you!"  he  cried. 

By  the  bank  of  the  creek  and  in  the  fields  he  gave 
chase,  never  heeding  others  that  crossed  his  path,  but 
following  the  original  one  with  singleness  of  purpose 
until  he  had  imprisoned  it.  With  heads  together  they 
knelt,  slowly  opening  the  cage  he  had  made  of  his 
cap  until  a  struggling  wing  appeared.  She  touched 
it;  silver  powder  glistened  on  the  robber  thumb. 

"Poor  little  butterfly!  Let  it  go!"  she  said;  for 
only  the  sex  that  conserves  and  sits  at  home  has  an 
inborn  hatred  of  killing  and  destruction. 

He  obeyed  with  the  faith  of  a  disciple.  She  clapped 
her  hands  delightedly. 

13 


THE    VAGABOND 

"I'll  catch  it  again!"  lie  cried;  and  he  who  had  been 
so  long  hidden  in  the  stork's  pocket  would  have  run 
until  he  fell  from  exhaustion  for  the  reward  of  her 
smile. 

"No,  no,  please,"  she  said.  "All  the  boys  at  the 
Post  have  promised — Billy  Williams,  cross  your  heart 
and  hope  to  die  you'll  never  rob  a  bird's  nest.  It's 
very  naughty." 

The  disciple  fervently  took  the  oath. 

"Thank  you,  Billy,"  she  said,  with  a  little  cour- 
tesy. 

Then  it  was  that  a  man  of  eight-and-twenty  ap- 
peared, a  fishing-rod  on  his  arm  and  his  face  trium- 
phant over  the  catch  that  had  made  him  slightly  for- 
getful of  his  daughter's  presence. 

"Company,  eh  ?"  he  said,  cheerily. 

Young  William  drew  a  little  to  one  side.  His 
guiltiness  did  not  prevent  him  from  observing  this 
other  father  from  head  to  toe.  Tim  Booker  stood 
as  erect,  he  thought,  but  the  stranger's  figure  seemed 
to  be  knitted  into  his  clothes. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  speaking  for  her  companion, 
"this  is  Billy  Williams,  and  he's  just  the  funniest 
little  boy  you  ever  did  see,  daddy." 

"Well,  Billy,"  daddy  observed,  stating  a  fact 
rather  than  asking  a  question,  "how  is  that  for  a 
trout?" 

He  flung  open  his  basket,  while  the  sun  played  on 
gold  and  silver  scales  and  speckles,  and  then  as  quickly 
he  dropped  the  lid  again  and  reached  down  and  took 
his  daughter's  hand  in  his. 

"Good-by,  Billy  Williams,"  the  Vision  called  back 
over  her  shoulder.  "Be  sure  you  don't  rob  birds' 

14 


THE  VAGABOND 

nests,  and  hurry  home  to  your  dinner  so  you  won't  be 
scolded." 

He  stood  quite  still  for  some  time  after  she  had 
gone.  She  had  been  wonderful,  very,  very  wonder- 
ful, indeed.  And  the  man,  too.  He  seemed  to  exhale 
something  of  the  outside  world  which  the  boy  was 
one  day  to  explore,  as  he  travelled  and  travelled  to 
make  up  for  his  imprisonment. 

"I  let  her  order  me  about  just  as  she  pleases,"  he 
thought.  •  "I'd  never  let  any  boy  do  that — never ! 
I'd— I'd  fight  him  first." 

He  had  changed  his  ideas  of  his  mountain  some- 
what. Now  he  wanted  it  to  be  steeper  than  the  one 
in  the  wood-cut — a  mountain  all  warty  with  overhang- 
ing bowlders — so  that  he  could  make  a  brave  show 
in  climbing  it  as  she  watched  him.  Slowly  he  walked 
back  to  the  men  in  the  fields,  and  to  his  friend  he 
said,  most  seriously: 

"Tim,  please  call  me  Billy  after  this.  That's  the 
nickname  for  William,  isn't  it?" 

"When  it  ain't  Bill;  mostly  it's,  Bill.  Well,  Billy 
it  is,  bub.  What  put  that  into  your  head  ?" 

But  Billy  was  not  going  to  impart  a  hint  of  his  new 
secret  to  any  living  soul;  so  he  answered  the  question 
by  asking  one  about  the  old,  familiar  one,  which  of 
late  he  had  shared  with  his  great  friend. 

"How  much  bigger  ought  I  to  be,  Tim,  before  I  can 
run  away  and  be  sure  not  to  be  caught?" 

Tim  leaned  back  and  let  a  guffaw  break  in  healthy 
resonance  skyward.  Then  he  regarded  Billy  with  a 
measuring  and  pronounced  squint. 

"Six  inches,"  he  concluded,  decisively.  "And  you 
don't  want  to  start  till  the  apples  are  ripe.  If 

15 


THE    VAGABOND 

you  start  when  they're  green,  that'll  ruin  your 
chances." 

"Wouldn't  five  inches  do — f-i-v-e?"  Five  seemed 
such  a  lot. 

"No,  sir.    I've  set  you  the  limit." 

"Six  it  is,  Tim.  I'd  rather  make  it  seven  and  be 
sure  not  to  be  caught.  I  just  want  to  keep  right 
on  growing  and  never,  never" — something  caught  in 
his  throat  and  then  by  contagion  in  Tim's  throat,  too. 

Before  the  day  was  done  he  had  drawn  a  mark 
even  with  the  top  of  his  head  on  the  door-casing  and 
six  inches  above  it  another.  When  he  told  Tim  of 
this,  Tim  was  sorry  for  his  remark. 

"I  meant  Injun  inches.  They're  twice  as  long.  Six 
Injun  inches  is  a  foot." 

But  the  boy  caught  Tim's  eye  in  a  twinkle.  Tim 
realized  that  it  was  too  late  to  draw  back  and  found 
himself  a  bounden  party  to  the  enterprise.  There- 
after, Billy  had  only  to  look  at  the  marks  on  the  door- 
casing  when  he  chafed  under  his  burden  to  be  in- 
spirited to  meek  and  proper  conduct.  He  began 
systematically  to  read  everything  about  mountains 
offered  by  the  book-littered  room  that  served  as  a 
library.  Some  traveller's  tale  about  the  wealth  of  the 
TJrals  enlarged  his  ambition.  He  must  find  a  mine 
in  his  mountain. 

She  would  wait  for  him  under  the  trees  at  the 
foot  of  the  great  ascent  and  he  would  bring  her  a  lap- 
ful  of  gold  and  precious  stones  just  for  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  her  smile  and  watching  the  mole  dipping 
in  and  out  of  the  dimple  in  her  chin :  all  this  when  he* 
did  not  even  know  her  name  and  only  that  she  lived 
at  an  army  post.  Such  imageries  in  an  eerie  boy, 

1$ 


THE    VAGABOND 

bound  to  be  happy  though  in  a  prison,  would  not  be 
worth  our  mention  had  not  his  determination  and  the 
ardor  of  his  loneliness  and  his  adherence  to  first  im- 
pressions made  him  steadfast.  His  friendship  for  Tim 
was  for  all  time  and  all  moods.  His  fancy  for  the  girl 
was  not  a  passing  one.  Hence  this  story. 


17 


II 

FOUR    OF    THE    SIX    INCHES 

Billy  found,  as  hermits  have  before  him,  that  the 
earth  is  never  quiet.  It  can  chatter  as  well  as  thunder; 
also  listen  to  a  boy's  heart-beats.  In  winter,  the  still- 
ness of  some  days  spoke  to  him  of  the  solemn  grandeur 
of  his  mountain;  the  wind  through  the  trees  on  others, 
of  the  precipices  and  jagged  inclines  and  all  obstacles 
that  gave  its  ascent  fascination.  In  summer,  the  hum- 
ming of  insects,  the  softer  concert  of  buds  bursting 
and  leaves  unfolding,  the  gentler  side  of  Nature, 
spoke  to  him  of  that  Vision  by  the  pool.  He  never 
disturbed  the  swallows'  nest  which  was  lodged  under 
the  eaves  near  his  window;  yet  he  ruthlessly  caught 
butterflies  which,  in  fancy,  he  laid  at  her  feet  and 
then  sent  fluttering  away  at  her  royal  command. 

May  had  come  once  more  and  he  had  gained  four 
of  the  six  inches  when  he  undertook  a  practice  climb. 
He  slipped  out  of  the  window  of  his  room  upon  the 
roof  of  the  porch  and  thence  into  one  of  the  elm-trees. 
From  the  top  he  hoped  to  see  the  village.  With  one 
hand  against  the  trunk  to  steady  himself,  he  looked 
up,  selecting  each  crotch  which  was  to  be  a  step  of  his 
ladder. 

"My!  This  is  nothing  at  all,"  he  said,  "nothing  at 
all  beside  a  mountain  and  precipices!" 

As  his  gaze  swept  downward  through  an  opening 
18 


THE  VAGABOND 

in  the  foliage,  lie  caught  a  glimpse  of  an  immense 
butterfly.  Releasing  his  grasp  of  the  limb,  he  clapped 
his  hands  at  the  joy  of  getting  such  a  beauty  for  the 
girl,  lost  his  balance  and  fell.  (This  is  important  as 
the  first  of  such  tragedies.)  He  remembered  no  more 
until  the  pain  came  and  he  opened  his  eyes. 

"The  leg's  broken!  It's  broken!  I  thought  so!" 
said  his  father,  as  he  felt  of  it.  "I'll  take  you  to  the 
doctor.  Yes,  I'll  take  you  to  the  doctor.  No  woman 
around,  either." 

The  voice  was  high,  complaining,  angry.  After  all, 
his  method  of  rearing  had  not  saved  his  son  from 
accidents  which  befall  other  boys.  With  Billy  in  his 
arms,  he  started  toward  the  gate,  a  walk  of  three 
miles  before  him.  There  he  stood  irresolute  for  a 
minute,  then  bore  his  burden  back  to  the  house  and 
to  his  own  room,  where  he  laid  it  on  the  bed  as  ab- 
stractedly as  if  it  were  his  coat.  The  jolt  forced  a 
groan  from  unwilling  lips. 

"Mrs.  Hawkins  hasn't  been  here  this  morning?"  the 
father  asked. 

The  question  was  enough  to  have  convinced  the 
neighbors  who  thought  William  Williams,  Sr.,  queer 
that  he  was  something  more ;  a  conviction  that  would 
have  been  formed  long  before  if  he  had  meddled  in 
anybody's  else  affairs  or  some  relative  had  wanted  his 
property. 

"No,  oh,  no!  It  hurts — how  it  hurts!"  was  the 
reply. 

"Of  course  it  does.  I  told  you  it  would.  I've  been 
warning  you  ever  since  you  were  born  that  it  would. 
Don't  you  suppose  I  know?  It  runs  that  way.  Water 
doesn't  run  back  up  hill  after  it  has  run  down.  Don't 

19 


THE    VAGABOND 

you  suppose  I  know  ?  Mrs.  Hawkins  hasn't  been  here, 
either.  It's  strange.  The  doctor — he's  a  man!  I'll 
go  for  the  doctor." 

For  the  first  time  in  many  years  the  recluse  broke 
out  of  a  walk.  He  ran  half  way  to  Hawkins's  house 
before  he  stopped. 

"I  could  set  it  myself,"  he  said.  "It's  all  in  my 
books  of  medicine.  But " 

But  to  put  all  or  anything  that  he  had  learned 
into  sustained,  decisive  action  was  beyond  his  capac- 
ity. He  uttered  an  oath,  which  might  have  been 
directed  at  either  the  doctor,  the  boy,  or  the  accident, 
and  strode  on. 

Meanwhile,  Billy's  spirit  had  risen  above  mere  bod- 
ily suffering.  He  sat  bolt  upright,  splintered  bone 
pricking  flesh.  If  he  could  never  walk  again  he  might 
not  climb  his  mountain!  He  might  not  run  away! 
It  was  the  hope  of  freedom  that  had  made  him  joy- 
ous under  tyranny.  To  hobble  as  he  had  seen  lame 
horses!  To  lie  through  a  lifetime  that  should  be  one 
long,  rainy  day,  watching  his  father  pace  up  and 
down  the  room!  Never  to  explore  the  world!  Never 
to  know  the  elation  of  buffeting  its  hazards!  Never 
to  see  the  army  post  with  the  sentry  pacing  up  and 
down  between  the  two  pillars  in  front  of  the  entrance ! 
Never  to  see  the  girl!  Never  to  clraw  pictures  of  the 
strange  places  and  faces  he  should  see!  Flesh  quiver- 
ing with  shock,  mind  quivering  with  suspense,  he 
drew  himself  toward  the  edge  of  the  bed  to  learn  his 
fate.  Though  it  did  hurt  so  much,  perhaps  he  could 
still  walk.  He  touched  the  well  leg  to  the  floor;  he 
tried  to  steady  the  broken  one;  it  flopped  out  of  his 
control  with  an  overpowering  knife-thrust  of  pain. 

20 


THE  VAGABOND 

Again  he  was  back  on  the  bed;  again  that  saturnine 
face  with  the  scattered  beard,  the  hollow  cheek-bones, 
the  big  nose  and  the  retreating  chin,  was  over  him. 
As  the  lids  were  raised,  the  father  seized  the  boy  in 
his  arms,  kissed  him  two  or  three  times  with  mad, 
rough  press;  then  sprang  into  the  adjoining  room, 
seated  himself  facing  the  bed,  and  stared  at  the  flesh 
of  his  flesh  as  if  it  were  an  invader. 

"I  forgot,"  he  said,  his  passion  congealing  into 
cynicism.  "That  was  almost  the  same  as  kissing 
her" 

It  was  Tim  Booker  who  had  galloped  to  the  village, 
with  his  heart  in  his  errand.  His  broad  shoulders 
squared,  he  led  the  way  into  the  house  with  an  air  of 
authority  which  was  ever  his  own. 

"Here's  Doc  Thomson!  He's  going  to  fix  you  up 
all  right !  Why,  the  doc  once  set  sixteen  bones  in  a 
boy  and  that  boy  was  smart  as  a  cricket  in  two  weeks," 
he  said,  as  he  laid  his  big  hand  on  Billy's  head;  and 
Billy  tried  to  smile  at  the  twinkle  in  Tim's  eye. 

The  father  glowered;  then  turned  wheedlingly  to 
the  doctor. 

"There  won't  be  room  for  more  than  two  at  the 
operation,  will  there?"  he  asked. 

Tim  slowly  turned  his  eyes  and  flashed  them  on  the 
objector. 

"I'm  going  to  stick  right  here,  Mr.  Williams,"  he 
said. 

"Yes,  it's  better,"  the  doctor  added,  when  he  saw 
how  Billy's  face  lighted  at  Tim's  words. 

The  doctor's  kindliness  was  deeper  than  profession- 
al smirks.  Hard  riding  for  small  fees  had  made  his 
life,  as  the  lines  of  his  smooth-shaven  face  showed, 

21 


THE    VAGABOND 

an  expression  of  his  interest  in  the  well-being  of  hig 
little  world. 

"Yes,  yes,  it  hurts  a  bit,"  he  said,  as  he  made  the 
examination.  "When  we  put  it  back  it'll  hurt  a  good 
deal  more;  so  we'll  see  how  much  of  a  soldier  you 
are.  Mr.  Booker,  now  if  you'll  just  take  hold  of  it 
there  and  keep  the  ankle  steady." 

"Let  father  do  it!"  Billy  pleaded.  "I  want  Tim 
here."  He  thrust  his  hand  into  the  big  palm  of  his 
friend.  "If  you'll  let  me  have  Tim  I  won't  whimper." 

"Yes,  yes,  certainly,"  said  the  doctor,  softly. 
"Just  hold  the  ankle  steady  now,  Mr.  Williams." 

The  broken  ends  gritted,  the  bruised  flesh  quivered, 
and  the  boy  ground  his  teeth  and  drove  hi3  nails  into 
Tim's  hands.  As  the  doctor  put  the  splints  on  and 
began  his  directions  for  the  care  of  the  patient,  Billy 
interrupted  him  with  a  question  that  was  a  sobbing 
cry. 

"Tell  me  true,  true!  Cross  your  heart  and  hope  to 
die" — that  same  oath  that  the  Vision  had  adminis- 
tered to  him — "cross  your  heart  and  hope  to  die,  tell 
me  honest — will  I  ever  be  well  enough  to  walk,  well 
enough  to  climb — a — mountain?" 

He  grasped  Tim's  hands  tightly  with  both  of  his 
to  help  him  bear  the  answer. 

"Yes,  you  can  climb  anything  Mr.  Booker  can." 
(The  doctor  always  put  in  the  Mister.  Desiring  re- 
spect, he  showed  it  to  others.) 

"I  can!  I  can!  Tim,  I  can!" 

His  face  was  aflame.  The  mountain  was  his  to 
climb;  the  world  was  his  to  explore.  He  could  run 
away!  He  should  see  the  girl! 

"And — -will  I  stop  growing?  Only  two  inches 
22 


THE  VAGABOND 

more — just  two  before  I'll  be  big  enough  to  run 
away!"  In  his  excitement  he  had  told  his  secret,  and 
to  his  disadvantage,  as  his  father's  face  showed. 

"'No.  You  ought  to  be  pretty  near  as  big  as  Mr. 
Booker,''  the  doctor  said. 

Billy  fainted  for  joy,  and  both  the  doctor  and  Tim 
were  wiping  their  eyes  when  he  revived.  After  they 
had  gone,  William,  Sr.,  bent  over  his  son,  saying,  al- 
most unctuously: 

"So  you  are  going  to  run  away,  are  you?" 

There  was  no  reply. 

"I'll  take  care  of  that,"  William,  Sr.,  added. 

William,  Jr.,  looked  up  at  his  father  and,  pain- 
ridden  as  he  was,  asked,  weakly: 

"If  I  don't  run  away,  what  are  you  going  to  do 
with  me  when  I  get  to  be  a  man?" 

"Teach  you!  Teach  you  and  see  you  don't  draw 
fool  pictures.  You  can  read  enough  of  the  wickedness 
of  the  world.  Learn,  learn ;  that  is  the  only  thing. 
You  can't  learn  much,  even  if  you  live  to  be  a  hun- 
dred. I'll  see  you  dead  before  I'll  see  you  run  away." 

Still  William,  Jr.,  made  no  reply.  He  only  looked 
up  steadily  into  his  father's  eyes  and  smiled.  He  had 
ever  the  trick  of  meeting  the  crises  of  his  life  in  this 
way — by  silence  and  a  saving  humor.  That  smile  was 
indescribable,  suggesting  a  wisdom  as  mature  as  its 
maker's  experience  of  life  was  immature.  It  was  tan- 
talizing in  its  confidence  and  determination. 

His  optimism  in  face  of  the  threat  made  convales- 
cence speedy.  When,  in  the  late  summer,  tragedy  pre- 
cipitated him  into  new  surroundings,  one  leg  was  aa 
good  as  the  other. 


Ill 

AND    FOUR    PROVE    ENOUGH 

Oh,  you  foolish  adults  with  work-stiffened  imagina- 
tions !  Between  trips  to  the  house  of  death,  Mrs.  Raw- 
kins  warned  the  "poor  dear"  not  to  cry,  for  his  pa  had 
only  gone  to  sleep.  In  truth,  Billy  had  not  shed  a 
tear,  a  fever  of  wonder,  awe,  and  agony  having  dried 
the  ducts.  With  his  knees  on  the  rag-carpet  cushion 
of  a  cane  chair,  he  watched  the  coroner's  jury  congre- 
gate, one  hy  one,  proceed  in  a  body  to  their  duties, 
and  one  by  one  depart. 

Then  came  the  undertaker  from  Newland  Centre 
and  the  inquiring  neighbors,  with  "do  tells."  Half 
hidden  behind  the  curtains  he  heard  their  greetings 
and  speculations.  They  "wondered"  what  would  be- 
come of  the  boy;  they  had  "hearn  tell"  that  "Williams 
had  "perty  much"  run  through  everything  he  had,  and 
what  he  hadn't — a  witticism  this,  in  a  knowing 
whisper — Jim  Hawkins  had  got ;  they  "guessed"  that 
the  outlook  for  the  "little  shaver"  was  "perty  bad" 
and  he'd  have  to  be  "bound  out"  to  somebody  for 
his  "keep."  That  is,  "onless"  Judge  John  "Williams, 
of  the  neighboring  county,  should  take  a  hand.  But 
the  Judge  had  never  had  any  association  with  his 
brother.  A  "curyus"  man,  said  a  Whig.  There  poli- 
tics was  interjected. 

"Curyus!"  exclaimed  a  Democrat,  in  sarcasm. 
"D'ye  ever  hear  him  speak  ?  He  wiped  out  twenty- 

24 


THE  VAGABOND 

six  hundred  Whig  majority  in  Belmore,  that's  what 
he  did.  He's  the  youngest  jedge  Belmore  ever  had. 
Curyus !  He's  jest  curyus  'nough  to  be  Governor  of 
this  State  some  day." 

Even  while  they  discussed  this  rising  statesman,  a 
mud-bespattered  buggy  from  the  Newland  Centre 
livery-stable  drove  up. 

"That's  a  good  mare  you've  got,  Ed,"  said  the  pas- 
senger, as  he  alighted,  as  if  he  had  known  the  driver 
all  his  life  instead  of  two  hours. 

"How're  ye,  Jedge  ?"  said  his  defender,  his  waist 
receding  and  his  chest  swelling.  "Heerd  ye  talk  once 
over  to  Plaronville." 

"Well ;  and  how's  that  boy  of  yours — the  little  fel- 
low that  was  with  you  when  the  mayor  introduced 
you?"  For  the  Judge  had  the  memory  and  the  art 
which  make  votes. 

Actually  not  more  than  thirty-two  or  three,  his 
manner  and  dress,  even  in  those  stiff  days,  made  him 
seem  forty,  with  the  experience  of  fifty.  Of  average 
height,  he  was  already  a  little  inclined  to  stoutness. 
The  style  of  his  stock  and  collar,  as  well  as  his  coat 
and  high  hat,  were  well  out  of  date.  One  might  have 
said,  at  first  glance,  that  he  had  grown  up  in  the  com- 
pany of  old  people  who  had  taught  him  to  make  his 
life  a  protest  against  changing  fashions.  If  you 
looked  at  him  more  closely  when  he  spoke,  you  saw 
that  his  garb  was  only  the  eccentricity  or  the  lapse  of 
a  broad  character.  "The  Jedge  don't  care  nothin' 
'bout  clothin'  his  outside,"  said  Belmore  County  De- 
mocracy. "He's  too  busy  clothin'  his  insides  with 
larnin'."  A  mobile  face  and  deep-set  eyes  set  off  a 
mouth  which  had  the  droop  of  the  natural  orator's. 

25 


THE  VAGABOND 

It  was  a  bold  Whig  who  ventured  the  remark  that 
the  Judge  was  something  of  a  stranger  in  these 
"parts."  The  bold  Whig  meant  to  be  sarcastic, 
though  it  did  not  occur  to  the  Judge  that  he  did. 

"Yes,  it's  twenty  years  since  I  was  here.  The  old 
place  has  changed  a  little,"  he  added,  sadly,  as  he 
looked  up  at  the  house  on  the  hill. 

How  he  had  come  to  leave  it  was  a  neighborhood 
tale.  Petty  bullying  had  driven  him  to  fight  his 
elder  brother  William  and  he  had  thrashed  William. 
His  father  had  thrashed  him  in  turn  and  he  had  run 
away,  without  being  followed  or  sought. 

Presently  he  asked  for  his  nephew  and  was  led 
into  the  sitting-room  where  Billy  from  his  perch  on 
the  rag-carpet  cushion  had  seen  and  overheard  every- 
thing. 

"I'm  your  uncle,  my  boy,"  he  said,  somewhat 
awkwardly. 

Billy  was  suspicious  of  him.  He  looked  too  solid, 
too  reposeful,  for  a  runaway's  taste. 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  said,  slowly  and  distantly. 

The  uncle  studied  his  features  steadily  for  a  mo- 
ment, as  if  weighing  the  good  family  traits  against 
the  bad,  and  unconsciously  his  manner  was  that  of  the 
bench.  Then  he  took  Billy's  chin  in  his  hand  and 
coddled  it  as  one  does  a  precious  token,  while  Billy 
continued  to  stare  at  him  and  resented  the  familiar- 
ity. Unused  to  boys  and  having  the  orator's  heart 
and  the  orator's  habit,  he  made  a  speech  about  the  in- 
evitable which  sounded  well  enough  to  adult  ears  but 
made  his  youthful  hearer  fear  him  as  a  new  enemy. 
Later,  when  Billy  saw  the  Judge  and  Jim  Hawkins 
leaving  the  yard  together,  he  was  drawn  to  a  plan 

26 


THE  VAGABOND 

which  put  action  before  inches.  The  decision  sud- 
denly and  irrevocably  made,  he  looked  around  stealth- 
ily, as  if  he  feared  that  someone  might  have  overheard 
his  very  thoughts. 

He  shared  Tim's  bed  in  a  musty  chamber  upstairs. 
On  the  previous  night,  exhaustion  and  a  sustaining 
presence  had  sent  him  to  sleep  quickly.  Not  so  this 
time,  though  his  arm  was  around  the  neck  of  his 
friend  and  comforter  as  before.  When  steady 
breathing  signified  that  Tim  was  in  dreamland,  the 
shamming  eyelids  were  raised.  Curiosity,  the  fas- 
cination of  the  terrible  event,  an  inexplicable  desire 
to  see  his  father  again,  drew  him  toward  his  home. 
He  tiptoed  to  the  window  and  listened:  Silence 
within,  the  crickets  singing  without. 

It  was  only  a  minute's  work  for  bare  feet  and 
nimble  toes  and  hands  to  drop  to  the  ground  and  reach 
the  road.  At  that  point  of  vantage  he  took  a  long 
breath  of  boyish  exultation,  which  was  stopped  short 
when  he  saw  that  a  light  was  burning  in  the  big  house 
on  the  hill.  Had  his  father  come  to  life  again  ?  With 
his  imagination  surging,  bravely  urging  his  legs  for- 
ward, on  he  went,  crouching  in  the  deep  shadows  that 
the  rail  fence  cast  under  a  waning  moon's  rays.  He 
was  unconscious  of  the  gashes  cut  in  bare  soles  by 
sharp  stones  and  the  thorns  of  stems  of  the  wild  rasp- 
berry bushes  that  clung  to  the  rails  for  support.  In 
which  room  was  the  light?  Once  at  the  gate,  he  had 
no  doubt  that  it  was  in  the  parlor,  which  had  always 
been  closed.  Suppose  his  father  were  alive  and  lur- 
ing him  on  with  a  lamp  to  kill  him! 

His  stock  of  observation,  large  from  lack  of  human 
association,  assured  him  that  it  was  easier  to  see  into 

27 


THE  VAGABOND 

the  room  than  out  of  it.  How  like  his  father,  this 
folly  of  not  putting  the  lamp  outside  wher«  all  the 
advantage  would  be  with  the  tenant !  He  crept  in  the 
shadows  and  then  on  all  fours  under  the  window, 
where  he  held  his  breath  and  listened.  Still  no  sound 
save  the  crickets.  He  flattened  his  hands  against  the 
clapboards,  resting  on  tiptoes,  and  inch  by  inch  raised 
his  head  until  he  could  see  within. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  was  a  long  black  box. 
On  its  tapering  end  stood  a  lamp  w.  r  threw  its  glare 
fairly  into  the  faces  of  the  watchers.  The  work  had 
been  hard  in  the  field  that  day,  and  Nature  had  as- 
serted itself  over  the  presence  of  death.  One  was  an 
elderly  man,  who  had  slipped  down  in  his  chair;  the 
other  was  a  young  man,  whose  head  wabbled  with  his 
breaths  which  caught  in  his  windpipe.  As  if  in  keep- 
ing with  the  scene,  Billy  found  the  outer  door  ajar. 
He  listened;  stepped  inside  and  listened  again.  He 
heard  nothing  except  the  pounding  of  his  own  heart. 
It  seemed  to  him  to  be  rocking  the  whole  house.  Still 
it  kept  on,  and  still  no  one  was  stirred  by  the  sound 
of  it. 

He  crept  to  the  parlor  and  peeked  through  the  crack 
between  the  jamb  and  the  open  door,  to  find  the  sleep- 
ers as  unconscious  as  the  dead.  The  lamp  on  the  foot 
of  the  coffin  threw  uncanny  shadows  over  the  haircloth 
furniture,  the  melodeon  against  the  wall,  and  the  cob- 
web-laden portraits  of  the  builder  of  the  house  and 
the  builder's  wife.  What  a  price  in  sweat  those  lean 
features  had  paid  for  the  most  expensively  furnished 
"best  room"  for  miles  around,  with  what  a  result! 
They  had  scarcely  set  foot  into  luxury  which  was  for 
the  son's  sake,  which  the  son  had  sealed  up  to  decay. 

28 


THE  VAGABOND 

One  side  of  the  lamp-chimney  was  smoked,  the  other 
gray  with  grease  and  dirt.  At  its  base  was  an  accumu- 
lation of  dead  flies. 

At  first,  whenever  the  young  man's  head  nodded, 
Billy  dodged.  At  length  he  became  so  confident  that 
he  imagined  himself  making  passes  before  the  faces  of 
the  sleepers  without  awakening  them.  He  stepped  to 
the  side  of  the  coffin.  Ascertaining  by  gentle  pressure 
that  the  lid  wp^ld  ^lide,  he  slowly  pushed  it  back  till 
he  saw  the  face  o±  uis  father.  William  Williams,  Sr., 
had  done  nothing  in  life  with  such  precision  as  the 
firing  of  the  shot  that  ended  it.  A  tiny  hole  in  either 
temple,  exactly  in  line,  was  plugged  with  cotton.  The 
lamplight  made  two  deep,  oblong  shadows  of  the  eye- 
pits;  the  chin  seemed  to  have  fallen  farther  away 
from  the  big  nose;  the  scraggly  beard  had  been  indif- 
ferently trimmed. 

Billy  forgot  to  observe  the  watchers.  His  eyes  dwelt 
on  the  visage  before  them  until  they  were  blinded  by 
the  scene  of  the  day  before;  until  in  imagination  he 
dodged  again  to  escape  his  father's  first  bullet  and 
saw  him  fall  with  the  second  report.  He  heard  or 
thought  he  heard  a  ghostly  creaking  in  another  part 
of  the  house.  Not  waiting  to  close  the  lid,  he  now  fled 
in  panic  from  the  room  as  if  a  phantom  were  pur- 
suing him.  When  he  reached  the  road  he  stopped 
abruptly.  Retreat  was  obnoxious  to  his  whole 
nature.  The  light  still  gleamed  from  the  window 
and  the  crickets  still  chirped.  An  impulse  sent  him 
dodging  back  in  the  shadows  to  the  window.  The 
coffin  was  still  open ;  the  watchers  were  still  sleeping. 

"I'll  have  a  good  look  at  a  thing  before  I  get  scared 
about  it  again,"  he  whispered. 

29 


THE    VAGABOND 

His  sight  of  that  mockery,  his  home,  was  satisfied 
forever.  He  sped  on  to  the  Hawkins  house,  climbed 
in  at  the  window,  and  discreetly  awakened  his  friend 
by  tugging  at  his  hair.  Tim  sat  bolt  upright  in  bed 
and  rubbed  his  eyes,  while  he  listened  in  amazement. 

"I  can't  help  the  inches,  Tim,"  Billy  gasped  at  last. 
"I'd  die  if  I  went  to  the  funeral.  I  can't  wait  any 
longer.  I'm  going  to-night." 

Tim  drew  him  close  to  his  breast  and  shook  him 
with  a  big  bear's  affection  for  its  cub.  This  boy's  con- 
ceits had  kept  this  man  of  fancies  in  Hawkins's  em- 
ploy. 

"Go  ahead.  That  inch  and  a  half  won't  count  if 
you  mind  your  p's  and  q's,"  he  whispered. 

"Tim!"  Billy  burrowed  at  Tim  joyfully  with  a 
clinched  fist. 

Tim  had  run  away  from  home  himself,  away  from 
a  farmer  of  those  close-living,  hard-praying  New  Eng- 
land days — may  Heaven  bless  their  virtues  and  also 
damn  their  faults ! — to  whom  he  had  been  bound  out 
for  his  "keep."  So  he  had  advice  to  give. 

"Look  every  man  in  the  eye  and  nobody  will  try 
to  put  a  check-rein  on  you.  But  don't  you  think  that 
every  man's  eyes  will  twinkle  when  he  lies.  I've  got 
a  patent  right  on  that  myself.  And  the  deeper  you're 
in  trouble,  the  sharper  you  look  to  your  smile.  "With 
your  head  up  and  that  smile  in  working  order,  you'll 
do,  you'll  do!  St— t,  keep  still!" 

Tim  took  a  key  out  of  his  trousers  which  hung  on 
the  bedpost.  He  tiptoed  to  a  corner,  fumbled  awhile, 
opened  a  box,  and  returned  to  put  something  that 
gleamed  yellow  in  the  moonlight  and  twenty  cents  in 
change — all  he  had — into  the  boy's  hand. 

30 


"It's  a  twenty-dollar  gold  piece.  It'll  buy  you 
things  to  eat  till  you  put  forty  or  fifty  miles  behind 
you.  I'd  go  with  you,  only  they'd  suspect  I'd  put 
you  up  to  the  game."  He  drew  Billy  closer  to  him. 
It  seemed  as  if  Billy  was  bone  of  his  bone  and  blood 
of  his  blood.  "My  boy,  wherever  you  are,  whatever 
your  luck,  you've  got  a  friend  in  Tim  Booker  you  can 
count  on.  When  you  get  away  and  things  are  quieted 
down,  write  me." 

"Yes,  Tim ;  why,  of  course.  You're  the  only  friend 
I've  got  and  I  love  you." 

"When  you  make  up  your  mind  to  run,  run.  If 
you  feel  like  snivelling  swallow  hard  and  then  try  to 
whistle.  Most  boys  by  the  time  they've  gone  five 
miles  can't  think  of  anything  but  their  sore  feet  and 
troubles;  so  they  go  sneakin'  back.  If  you  don't,  when 
I  get  that  letter  I'll  run  away  and  catch  up  with  you 
and  we'll  try  our  luck  together." 

"Oh,  Tim,  will  you?" 

"I've  given  my  word." 

"Will  you  go  climb  mountains  with  me?  And  will 
we  be  real  true  partners  forever,  Tim — 'cause  I  love 
you." 

"Yes." 

He  pressed  Billy  and  kissed  him.  "Good-night," 
he  added,  and  rolled  over  with  his  back  to  the  boy. 

"Good-night,  Tim." 

"Nig-h-ht,"  drawled  a  voice  smothered  in  a 
pillow. 

"I'll  write.    I'll  wait  for  you,  Tim." 

!N"o  answer. 

"I'm  going,  Tim." 

"I'm  asleep,"  drawled  the  truthful  fabricator.  "Af- 
31 


THE  VAGABOND 

ter  pitching  hay  all  day  a  man  can't  be  expected  to 
know  what's  going  on  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning." 
With  his  shoes  and  stockings  in  hand  and  a  final 
good-by,  which  Tim  pretended  not  to  hear,  Billy 
went  out  into  the  world. 


IV 

IF    YOU    HOLD    YOUB    HEAD    HIGH 

Now  he  had  passed  from  under  the  black  cloud  into 
the  blue;  now  the  sunlight  of  his  nature  might  play 
upon  all  the  adventures  that  his  heart  might  favor  and 
his  mind  conceive. 

Ordinary  boyish  discretion  overshadowed  by  his 
sense  of  relief,  he  had  taken  to  the  road  in  direct  line 
of  flight.  It  was  gray  dawn  when  he  entered  the 
village.  He  heard  blinds  flung  open  with  creak  and 
slam,  but  saw  no  one  in  the  street,  and  pursued  his 
way  with  a  glance  of  curiosity  at  the  one-story  build- 
ing with  "Post-Office  and  General  Store"  in  faded  let- 
ters over  the  door,  which  had  been  the  most  familiar 
and  nearest  thing  of  the  outer  world  in  the  every-day 
talk  of  Tim  and  the  Hawkins  family.  Fifteen  of  the 
twenty  cents  in  change  went  promptly  for  crackers 
and  cheese  at  Newland  Centre,  twelve  miles  from 
home  and  twenty  miles  from  Plaronville,  the  metropo- 
lis of  the  county  of  Belmore,  which  was  the  terminus 
of  a  railroad  and  a  great  place,  generally  speaking,  in 
A.D.  1849. 

He  spent  that  night  on  a  stack  of  new-mown  hay 
in  the  sweet  sleep  of  vagabondage,  awakening  at  sun- 
up to  find  his  feet  too  sore  and  swollen  for  his  shoes. 
He  smiled  at  Tim's  warning,  even  while  he  looked  at 
the  gashes  of  the  raspberry  thorns.  Wounds  in  a  good 
cause  may  be  sweet;  a  welted  scar  a  petted  souvenir. 

33 


THE    VAGABOND 

His  buoyant  nature  was  not  of  the  kind  that  turns 
back;  rather  of  the  kind  that  spits  itself  on  the  bayo- 
net. He  went  picking  his  way  over  the  stubble  to  the 
nearest  pasture,  whistling  as  one  who  is  hastening 
through  a  stint  to  a  long  holiday. 

Thus  he  descended  upon  a  near-by  town  just  as  the 
hotel-keeper  was  opening  his  doors.  The  odor  of  fry- 
ing bacon  and  eggs  came  from  the  kitchen.  It  was 
easy  to  conclude  that  a  breakfast  offered  a  most  digni- 
fied excuse  for  changing  his  twenty-dollar  gold  piece. 
As  he  approached,  the  landlord  fastened  a  notice  on  a 
space  on  the  clapboards  peppered  with  rusty  tack- 
holes  beside  those  of  a  town  meeting,  a  sheriff's  sale, 
and  a  runaway  slave,  and  passed  in. 

Boyish  curiosity  must  read: 

"Fifty  Dollars  Reward,"  ran  the  letters  before 
Billy's  amazed  eyes.  "Ran  away  from  the  Williams 
Homestead,  Rockville,  Newland  Co.,  night  of  August 
llth,  William  Williams.  Supposed  to  have  gone  in 
the  direction  of  Plaronville.  A  boy  ten  years  old, 
large  for  his  age,  carries  his  head  high,  sandy-haired, 
blue-eyed,  much  freckled,  short  nose  and  strong  chin. 
Wore  a  gingham  shirt  buttoned  into  linsey-woolsey 
pants  about  the  height  of  his  ankles.  Fifty  dollars 
will  be  paid  for  his  return  or  detention.  Address 
Judge  John  Williams,  Belmore,  or  James  Rawkins, 
Newland  Centre.  P.  S.  William  need  have  no  fears. 
He  will  have  a  good  home." 

So  the  Judge  and  Jim  had  joined  hands  against 
him !  "A  good  home !"  He  had  about  as  much  use  for 
that,  Billy  thought,  with  mountains  to  climb  and  the 
world  to  explore,  as  a  mermaid  for  shoes.  How  could 
it  be  a  good  home  with  the  pompous,  oratorical  man 

34: 


THE    VAGABOND 

in  the  stock  or  Jim  Hawkins  in  sight?  It  would  take 
a  livelier  bait  than  that  to  catch  him. 

When  he  had  read  the  notice  about  himself  through 
twice,  he  read  the  others  about  Bingo,  late  of  Virginia, 
the  fallen  cattle  trader,  and  the  town  meeting  con- 
fusedly, while,  the  edge  of  his  hunger  flattened  by 
anxiety,  he  determined  upon  his  course  of  flight.  In 
the  manner  of  John  Smith's  son  going  to  the  post-of- 
fice after  the  weekly  paper,  he  turned  and  walked 
away.  He  understood  that  if  anybody  was  watching 
him  he  would  only  excite  suspicion  by  looking  back ; 
for  he  had  seen  his  own  freckled  face  in  the  mirror 
often  enough  to  know  how  well  he  answered  to  the 
description. 

He  promptly  struck  into  the  fields,  keeping  the 
main  road  to  Plaronville  in  sight.  After  some  minutes 
he  noticed  a  man  in  a  buggy  driving  rapidly.  Sud- 
denly this  fellow  stopped;  then  sent  his  horse  forward 
at  a  trot,  disappearing  over  a  knoll.  Billy  grasped  his 
pursuer's  plan.  His  first  impulse  was  to  run;  his  sec- 
ond, quickly  following  or  else  there  had  been  none, 
involved  his  first  stroke  of  cunning.  He  walked  on 
as  if  he  were  still  John  Smith's  son  going  after  the 
weekly  paper.  The  pursuer,  having  left  his  vehicle 
and  doubled  on  his  course,  met  him  just  at  the  top  of 
the  knoll. 

"Guess  you're  perty  hungry  by  this  time,  Billy 
"Williams,"  he  said,  a  little  pompously.  "I've  come 
to  take  you  home." 

With  that  fifty  dollars  as  good  as  in  his  pocket,  the 
town  loafer  (who  had  "borrered  a  hoss  jest  to  run 
down  the  road  a  piece")  grinned  at  the  weaknesses  of 
human  nature. 

35 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Perty!"  The  boy  with  his  inborn  hatred  of  pom- 
posity had  a  sense  of  mimicking  the  dialect,  try  hard 
as  he  would  to  play  the  lambkin's  part.  "Have  I  got 
to  walk?"  He  held  up  a  bare  sole.  "My  feet's  perty 
sore." 

"No,  sir!  No  boy's  got  to  walk  that  goes  with  Abe 
Parkins.  We'll  have  a  nice  breakfus'  at  the  hotel  to- 
gether." 

(What  a  story  of  how  Abe  "managed  it"  as  he 
"sets  'em  up"  after  Billy  is  packed  off  for  Newland 
Centre,  value  received!) 

"Thank  you.  Pm  hungry  as  a  bear,"  said  that 
wicked  runaway. 

"Yeh-op !  I  know  boys ;  all  boys  has  got  stummicks, 
ain't  they?  And  they  finds  it  out  about  breakfus'- 
time,  don't  they  ?  Ho,  ho,  ho !"  observed  the  sage. 

Abe's  borrowed  steed  was  tied  to  a  fence.  Not  yet 
recovered  from  his  haste  to  reach  the  crest  of  the  hill, 
he  was  only  too  glad  to  avail  himself  of  the  boy's 
offer  to  run  ahead  and  unhitch.  Billy  untied  the 
strap  leisurely.  The  instant  it  was  loose  he  turned 
into  a  human  cat  that  sprang  into  the  buggy  and 
slapped  the  horse's  flanks.  When  he  was  far  down 
the  road  he  could  not  resist  the  joy  of  turning 
in  his  seat  and  swinging  his  battered  straw  hat  in 
farewell  to  the  pudgy,  demonstrative  figure  in  the 
distance. 

Simple  cunning  is  stronger  in  the  boy  than  in  the 
man,  who  lacks  confidence  to  make  it  successful.  Long 
latent  in  Billy,  it  now  burned  brightly.  Every  mile 
was  one  nearer  Plaronville.  He  halted  before  the 
horse  was  worsted,  because  he  saw  his  second  line  of 
defence.  Certain  that  no  one  was  in  sight,  he  ran 

36 


THE    VAGABOND 

twenty  yards  into  a  field  and  dropped  his  shoes  and 
stockings.  It  was  in  August,  you  see.  Ensconced  in 
a  dry  culvert  which  carried  the  waters  of  a  brook  in 
spring,  Billy  overheard  the  arrival  of  Abe  Parkins, 
come  by  courtesy  of  a  farmer's  wagon ;  also  Abe's  ex- 
pression of  joy  and  his  deductions  therefrom  when  his 
gaze  lighted  on  the  shoes  and  stockings;  and,  finally, 
he  peeked  out  to  see  Abe  fortify  himself  with  some- 
thing from  a  bottle  and  start  across  the  fields  on  the 
trail. 

The  sport  of  the  thing  had  chilled  the  memory  of 
the  smell  of  eggs  at  the  hotel.  However,  it  did  not 
take  the  place  of  dinner  and  supper.  As  the  hours 
wore  on,  his  throat  seemed  as  dry  as  the  culvert;  his 
stomach  much  larger.  Inactivity  and  hunger  made  his 
imagination  race.  He  divined  all  kinds  of  obstacles 
to  his  future  progress  and  overcame  them  after  his 
own  fashion.  Ere  he  crept  out  at  night  he  had  become 
an  accomplished  strategist.  His  plan  of  campaign  was 
unchanged:  To  satisfy  his  hunger,  reach  the  city,  then 
the  army  post,  then  the  mountains. 

He  had  travelled  farther  than  he  thought  in  Abe 
Parkins's  "borrered"  buggy.  His  scheme  for  milk- 
ing cows  in  the  pastures  for  his  dinner  passed  into  thin 
air  when,  from  the  first  hill  that  he  ascended,  he  saw 
the  twinkling  lights  of  the  city  set  in  a  basin  of  dark- 
ness. With  a  twenty-dollar  gold  piece  in  his  pocket, 
why  shouldn't  he  dine  in  town?  Who  cared  for  one 
small  boy  in  such  a  big  place?  He  would  order  ham 
and  eggs  at  that  restaurant  with  the  thousand  candles 
that  played  a  great  part  in  Tim's  fantastic  description 
of  urban  life.  By  the  light  of  the  street-lamps  he 
could  see  the  houses  set  in  so  many  yards  in  the 

37 


THE    VAGABOND 

suburbs.  They  seemed  wofully  cramped  to  him. 
Why  should  anyone  want  to  live  in  a  box  when  there 
were  mountains  to  be  climbed?  Why  should  one  walk 
back  and  forth  on  a  single  narrow  street  when  his  legs 
would  carry  him  across  a  continent?  He  stopped  in  the 
shadow  at  a  corner,  wondering  whether  it  was  wise  to 
ask  the  way  of  two  men  whom  he  recognized  as  police- 
men. He  could  almost  have  touched  the  coat-tail  of 
one. 

"Fifty  dollars  ain't  to  be  had  every  day,"  this  one 
was  saying.  "I'll  nab  every  freckle-faced  boy  I  see 
on  spec." 

Before  the  other  had  drawled  his  rejoinder  Billy 
was  gone.  He  flew  down  the  first  alley  until  he  came 
to  a  dry-goods  box  lying  against  the  back  of  a  store.  A 
glance  showed  that  no  one  was  following.  There  he 
waited  until  he  saw  the  lights  of  the  residences  dis- 
appear one  by  one  and  no  longer  heard  footsteps  on 
the  wooden  sidewalk. 

Excitement  cannot  long  take  the  place  of  food  for 
any  youngster.  He  was  hungry  and  faint  as  he  made 
his  way  abroad.  A  few  people  still  loitered  in  the 
main  street.  With  the  spring  of  a  leap  for  liberty  in 
his  limbs,  he  walked  on,  once  more  John  Smith's  son 
going  after  the  weekly  paper.  Directly,  his  eye 
brightened  and  his  nostrils  sniffed  coffee.  The  one 
restaurateur  who  could  remain  up  until  the  pool- 
rooms closed  was  still  out  with  his  wagon.  Oh,  the 
smell  of  that  coffee!  But  it  was  not  wise,  the  strate- 
gist reasoned,  to  tarry  long  enough  in  such  a  public 
place  to  drink  anything.  Some  pieces  of  bread  with 
meat  between  them  marked  "5  cents" — he  had  never 
seen  the  like  before — struck  him  as  an  ideal  supper 

38 


THE    VAGABOND 

for  a  boy  in  a  hurry.  He  picked  up  four  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  way  and  offered  his  twenty-dollar  gold  piece 
in  payment.  The  man  scanned  him  closely. 

"What's  a  boy  your  size  doin'  with  all  that  gold?" 
he  asked.  (Yes,  gingham  shirt,  head  held  high,  and 
freckled  face.) 

"That's  my  business.  If  you're  too  poor  to  change 
it  I'll  take  one." 

He  laid  the  long-squeezed  five-cent  piece  on  a  sand- 
wich and  walked  on,  slipping  into  the  first  dark  cor- 
ner, the  calls  of  his  stomach  supreme,  to  eat  his  pur- 
chase in  peace.  As  he  emerged,  a  hand  was  laid  on 
his  shoulder.  His  face  was  fairly  in  the  light  of  a 
street-lamp  as  he  looked  up  to  his  captor,  who  grinned 
with  satisfaction. 

"Billy  Williams,  you've  come  a  good  piece  from 
Newland  Centre,"  he  said.  "I'm  going  to  take  you 
home." 

"Are  you  quite  sure?"  thought  Billy;  while  he  said, 
"All  right,"  cheerfully  and  in  great  docility  let  the 
policeman  take  his  hand  to  lead  him  across  the  rail- 
road track  and  river  to  the  police-station.  He  only 
wished  that  his  captor  had  a  horse  and  buggy.  But 
strategists  must  deal  with  situations  as  they  arise.  He 
soon  recovered  his  wits  and  became  gay,  most  demon- 
stratively so.  As  they  passed  onto  the  bridge  he 
cried : 

"Hooray!  And  I'll  ride  in  the  train  and  sleep  in  my 
own  bed!  Hooray!" 

He  threw  his  hat  in  the  air.  It  fell  some  feet  in 
front  of  the  pair. 

"Well,  you're  a  lively  one!"  thought  the  policeman, 
as  he  watched  him  run  ahead. 

39 


THE    VAGABOND 

Billy  picked  up  the  hat  and  something  else  which 
he  had  in  mind.  Lightning  broke  out  of  a  clear  sky 
for  the  captor.  The  impact  of  a  hurled  stone  against 
the  pit  of  his  stomach  made  him  blind  and  breathless. 
Billy  ran  past  him  to  the  railroad  yard  and  darkness, 
trusting  now  entirely  to  flight.  A  freight  train  was 
just  creaking  out  of  the  yard.  It  was  going  in  his 
direction — that  of  the  army  post.  The  coupling  of  the 
rear  car  seemed  to  thrust  itself  out  for  his  purpose. 
He  scrambled  onto  it,  straddled  it,  and  braced  himself 
with  his  hands  between  his  legs. 

Only  boys  and  men  who  think  that  girls  are  worth 
winning  and  mountains  worth  climbing  are  equal  to 
such  efforts.  Thus  he  rode  for  twenty  long  miles,  un- 
til at  break  of  day  the  train  slowed  up  to  cut  out  a  car 
at  a  station.  So  stiff  that  he  could  scarcely  crawl  at 
first,  he  limped  across  the  fields  to  a  gully,  where  he 
lay  down  and  fell  asleep. 

It  was  past  noon  when  he  awoke,  with  his  legs  sore 
and  stiff  and  raw  in  places  and  shooting  pains  from 
head  to  foot.  As  one  fitful  outburst  of  flame  only 
makes  a  room  more  cheerless  on  a  winter's  night,  so 
that  one  sandwich  had  left  only  a  greater  vacancy  in 
his  stomach.  By  this  time,  he  thought,  he  must  have 
passed  out  of  touch  with  the  notices  of  runaway  boys. 
He  would  go  to  the  station  and  try  to  change  that  gold 
piece.  Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  ought  to  look 
around,  for  he  had  come  so  far  that  there  might  be 
mountains  in  sight.  Instead,  he  saw  something  that 
gave  him  equal  delight.  There,  not  five  hundred 
yards  away,  were  the  long,  two-storied  building  for 
the  men,  the  row  of  officers'  houses,  the  parade  ground 
and  the  etone  pillars  at  the  entrance,  with  a  man  in 

40 


THE    VAGABOND 

uniform  with  rifle  thrown  over  his  shoulder  walking 
up  and  down.  Everything  else  in  abeyance,  he  limped 
forward  to  inquire  for  the  girl.  He  was  going  straight 
to  the  pacing  sentry  when  some  papers  on  a  board 
fastened  to  one  of  the  posts  made  him  approach  that 
instead. 

It  was  printed  this  tune ! 

Out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  he  saw  that  the  soldier 
had  not  seen  him.  He  started  again  to  play  the  part 
of  John  Smith's  son  going  for  the  weekly  paper.  But 
retreat  was  retreat  from  the  girl.  He  must  see  her. 
There  must  be  other  freckle-faced  boys  in  the  world. 
("Have  a  good  look  at  a  thing  before  you  get  scared 
about  it,"  he  repeated  to  himself.)  A  confident  man- 
ner might  further  the  conviction  that  he  was  generic 
rather  than  specific.  With  his  head  thrown  back  and 
both  hands  in  his  pockets,  appearing  so  much  the  oppo- 
site to  crestfallen  as  logically  to  excite  suspicion,  he 
stepped  up  to  the  sentry  as  that  automaton  wheeled  on 
his  beat. 

"Hello!"  he  said. 

"Well,  hello  yourself,  sonny.  What's  doing  in  your 
county?"  said  the  sentry. 

He  did  not  associate  the  freckled  face  with  the  no- 
tice because  he  had  not  looked  at  the  front  side  of  the 
stone  pillar  since  he  began  his  "go"  ten  minutes  before. 

"Is — is  there  a  little  girl  here" — how  he  wished  that 
he  knew  her  name ! — "a  little  girl  with  a  mole  on  her 
chin?" 

The  sentry  was  not  a  man  of  great  comprehension 
or  even  with  a  sense  of  humor,  else  he  would  have 
found  at  least  a  laugh  in  the  situation. 

"Well,  sonny,  you're  'way  behind  the  times.  She 
41 


THE  VAGABOND 

•went  out  almost  to  the  Kocky  Mountains  a  year  ago;" 
and  with  that  he  went  on  pacing. 

Billy  tried  to  whistle,  partially  succeeding,  as  Tim 
had  bidden  him  to  do  when  in  distress.  His  lip  was 
quivering ;  the  freckles  were  on  an  ashen  background ; 
but  the  head  was  still  poised  high  and  he  smiled  to 
give  countenance  to  that  whistle.  The  Rocky  Moun- 
tains were  two  thousand — t-w-o  t-h-o-u-s-a-n-d — miles 
away.  He  had  meant  to  see  them  some  day,  of  course. 
In  the  meantime,  he  had  intended  to  practise  on 
smaller  mountains  and  grow.  But  the  Rockies  it 
should  be.  His  legs  could  carry  him  to  their  mighty 
ascents,  he  was  sure,  if  he  held  his  head  high  and  did 
not  get  scared  at  things  before  he  had  a  good  look 
at  them.  Besides,  the  notices  could  not  follow  him 
all  that  distance,  and  she  would  be  near-by  when  he 
found  his  mine.  His  courage  received  fresh  impetus; 
the  ache  went  out  of  his  limbs. 

As  he  turned  to  pursue  his  way,  he  saw  another 
man  in  uniform;  an  officer  as  erect  as  the  sentry  despite 
his  age,  smooth-shaven  except  for  the  little  tufts  of 
iron-gray  hair  in  front  of  his  ears  (in  the  fashion  set 
by  General  Scott).  He  looked  at  Billy  sharply  from 
out  of  the  mass  of  dried,  squinting  wrinkles  which  a 
plainsman's  life  begets.  Billy  had  never  seen  such 
eyes  before  as  these  steely  gray  ones.  Their  glance 
seemed  to  pass  through  him  in  merciless  search  of  his 
every  secret. 

"Well,  well!"  he  said.  "Your  face  is  freckled 
enough ;  gingham  shirt  and  head  up,  too.  Are  you  the 
boy  mentioned  in  this  notice?  Are  you?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  all  Billy  could  say,  as  he  tried  to 
smile  and  whistle. 

42 


AND    SMILE    AT    OGEES 

And  where  was  the  girl?  She  is  to  play  as  impor- 
tant a  part  in  our  story  as  the  boy.  For  the  good  and 
sufficient  reason  that  whatever  concerns  her  concerns 
him,  we  make  a  digression  in  this  chapter  measurable 
by  the  difference  in  caste  and  the  expanse  of  country 
that  separated  the  pair.  She  had  become  the  Miss 
General  of  another  army  post,  enclosed  in  a  high  stock- 
ade that  rose  above  the  dead  level  of  the  prairie  in  the 
armed  loneliness  of  a  man-of-war  at  sea.  Her  father 
had  gone  to  fight  Indians  (which  was  done  in  very 
truth  in  those  days);  he  had  gone  to  meet  a  gallant 
death  which,  whatever  honor  it  brought  to  him,  left 
an  orphan  whose  future  was  made  the  subject  of  a 
council,  the  Colonel's  wife  acting  as  chairwoman. 
The  disposition  of  each  member  of  the  majority  was 
to  adopt  her.  The  minority,  consisting  of  the  chair- 
woman alone,  was  determined,  forceful,  and  far-see- 
ing. 

"We  poor  army  folks  haven't  much  to  offer,"  said 
she.  "Think  what  he  can  do  for  her!" 

"Suppose  he  should  refuse!"  put  in  a  doubtful  one, 
with  the  same  accent  on  the  threatening  pronoun. 

"He  can't!"  returned  the  Colonel's  wife.  "We 
sha'n't  give  him  a  chance.  We'll  simpty  send  her  on. 

43 


THE  VAGABOND 

When  lie  sees  her  and  he  can't  help  himself,  he'll  give 
her  her  deserts  for  family  pride's  sake." 

The  opinion  of  the  ranking  lady  prevailed.  Soon 
after  the  Vagabond  started  on  his  journey  westward, 
little  Miss  General  started  in  the  other  direction  in 
charge  of  an  officer's  wife  who  was  returning  East. 

"You  must  smile  when  you  meet  your  grand- 
father," were  the  ranking  lady's  last  words,  and  the 
ranking  lady  was  mighty  and  must  be  obeyed. 

Between  her  periods  of  sobbing  with  her  head  in 
her  companion's  lap,  she  promised  herself  to  be  very 
brave,  though  there  was  no  daddy  any  more  to  en- 
throne her  with  his  epaulets  as  a  seat,  while  that  fate- 
ful letter  to  Mortimer  Lanley,  Esquire,  travelled  only 
two  days  ahead  of  her.  Besides,  she  was  old  enough 
to  understand  the  situation  in  its  essentials,  which 
alone  interest  us.  Her  father  and  her  grandfather  had 
quarrelled  over  the  son's  marriage  to  "that  Yankee 
girl"  who  had  died  with  the  birth  of  her  child. 

"When  the  letter  was  brought  to  her  nearest  of  kin, 
he  was  in  his  study.  An  hour  afterward,  his  body- 
servant,  Marcus  Aurelius,  re-entering,  found  him  sunk 
in  his  chair,  the  emptied  sherry  decanter  overturned 
at  his  side  and  the  sheet  that  bore  the  news  still  in  his 
hand,  which  hung  limp  at  his  side.  Marcus  Aurelius 
whistled — but  not  until  he  had  withdrawn. 

When,  finally,  the  master  appeared,  he  said:  "Set 
your  old  mistress's  rooms  to  rights;"  called  for  his 
horse  and  rode  across  the  fields.  Thus  far  and  no 
further  did  he  commit  himself.  Remorse  for  his  stub- 
bornness made  him  still  feel  himself  to  be  the  injured 
one.  This  girl  was  a  Yankee,  not  his  grandchild  at 
all.  Care  for  her  he  would,  care  for  her  he  must,  as 

44 


THE  VAGABOND 

a  matter  of  decency.  Some  needy  gentlewoman  in 
Washington  would  doubtless  welcome  the  task.  Be- 
yond that — a  dozen  times  the  next  day  he  looked  in  at 
the  room  that  his  wife,  his  mother,  and  his  grand- 
mother had  occupied,  making  with  his  own  hand  some 
change  in  keeping  with  his  memory  of  other  days  when 
he  was  not  alone.  It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions 
that  the  image  of  the  past,  the  horror  of  his  son's  loss, 
the  thought  of  what  might  have  been,  which  the  prep- 
arations had  aroused,  made  him  cry  out:  "Remember, 
it  is  for  your  new  mistress,  your  new  mistress!"  No 
sooner  had  he  spoken  than  he  regretted  his  outburst 
of  sentiment  and  sent  the  open-mouthed,  open-eyed 
servants  scurrying,  with  a  reminder  that  their  only 
business  was  to  look  sharp.  A  Yankee's  daughter  in 
Volilla's  place !  A  strange  little  girl  enthroned  in  that 
old  house!  "She'll  be  more  at  home  in  a  boarding- 
house!"  he  exclaimed. 

Within  an  hour  he  was  again  in  his  study,  rereading 
another  letter  which  had  arrived  at  the  same  time  as 
the  ranking  lady's.  This  was  written  by  the  ranking 
officer.  The  Colonel  commanding  not  only  knew  how 
to  be  brief,  but  he  also  understood  a  gouty,  morose 
old  man.  "Need  I  say  any  more  than  that  your  son 
fell  in  a  manner  worthy  of  a  Lanley?"  He  appended 
the  laconic  official  report  of  the  action.  "The  Cap- 
tain's sabre,"  he  added,  "is  being  sent  in  the  custody 
of  his  brave  little  daughter."  No  appeal,  no  Yankee 
pettifogging  in  that — only  a  statement  of  facts ! 

Mr.  Lanley  looked  long  at  the  precious  document 
before  he  folded  it  and  put  it  in  his  strong  box.  Then 
he  returned  to  that  room  and  began  rearranging  the 
furniture.  Yes,  he  remembered  perfectly  that  in  the 

45 


THE    VAGABOND 

spring  his  wife  always  shifted  her  dressing-table  to  the 
far  corner. 

But  on/  the  morning  that  he  set  forth  for  Washing- 
ton he  felt  as  if  he  were  going  to  repel  an  invasion. 

"De  mist'ess'  room's  all  ready,"  Hannah,  the  nurse, 
told  him. 

"I  may  not  bring  her.  I  may  take  her  to  school  at 
once,"  he  replied. 

What  was  he  to  do  with  a  girl  in  that  old  house  ? 
Probably  her  blood  would  assert  itself  and  she  would 
grow  up  an  Abolitionist.  He  had  troubles  enough 
with  his  gout  and  his  debts  and  his  loneliness  as  the 
last  of  his  race  without  this  fresh  one.  Still,  he  had 
dressed  in  his  best  for  the  journey.  With  strangely 
beating  heart,  his  fingers  playing  with  his  watch-fob, 
he  stood,  after  his  long  ride,  a  relentless  critic  on  the 
station  platform.  What  would  she  be  like  ?  He  pict- 
ured her  a  freckled,  scrawny  little  vixen,  piping  and 
pouting  in  a  nasal  twang.  Good  God !  How  should 
he  act  if  she  cried  ?  If  she  doubled  up  her  fists  and 
struck  and  screamed,  or  fell  down  in  a  hysterical  fit 
and  kicked  and  bawled  that  she  "wouldn't — she 
wouldn't,  yeh-eh-eh!"  He  had  made  a  mistake,  no 
doubt  (carefully  as  he  had  fortified  himself  against 
all  contingencies),  in  not  bringing  the  old  nurse. 
Hannah,  however,  would  take  any  child  to  her  arms 
and  never  let  it  go.  He  was  almost  in  fear  of  Han- 
nah, the  all-powerful  relic  of  another  century. 

"Whatever  I  do,  I  sha'n't  let  that  Yankee  woman 
that's  with  her  read  me  any  lecture,"  he  growled,  as 
the  train  approached. 

Keen,  young  eyes  on  the  lookout  for  an  ogre  needed 
only  a  glance  over  the  waiting  people  before  the  train 

46 


THE    VAGABOND 

stopped  to  recognize  her  fate  in  the  tall,  spare  figure, 
with  trousers  strapped  under  the  insteps,  beaver  hat, 
high  stock,  expansive  shirt-bosom,  and  claw-hammer 
coat.  He  was  as  severe  as,  and  even  more  sombre 
than,  she  had  expected.  Old  generals,  she  knew, 
could  unbend,  for  they  were  in  bright  uniforms ;  this 
figure  in  its  quiet  garb  to  her  eyes  gave  no  more 
promise  of  mobility  than  a  column  of  stone.  Her  lip 
trembled ;  the  tears  were  starting ;  the  cry  of  "Daddy, 
daddy,  do  come  back  to  your  little  girl !"  was  rising 
from  her  heart  to  utterance,  when  she  remembered 
how  she  had  promised  the  formidable  ranking  lady 
to  be  brave  and  arm  herself  with  a  smile;  how,  in- 
deed, the  ranking  lady  had  said  that  to  snivel  in  the 
ogre's  presence  was  to  be  lost". 

Breaking  away  from  her  companion  as  they  stepped 
from  the  car,  swiftly,  desperately,  lest  her  courage 
should  desert  her,  she  ran  toward  the  forbidding  arbi- 
ter of  her  future.  On  his  part,  he  was  conscious  of  a 
beautiful  child  bowing  before  him  and  of  moist  brown 
eyes,  the  pupils  dilating  in  trepidation,  looking  into 
his. 

"I've  brought  you  papa's  sabre,"  she  pleaded. 
"You — you  won't  be  very  cruel — not  just  at  first — 
'cause  I'm  so  tired  and  mis'bul." 

Stiff  joints  yielded  uncomplainingly  with  his  weight 
as  he  bent  until  his  f  ace  was  on  a  level  with  hers.  The 
pressure  of  his  lips  to  her  soft  cheek  sent  a  tremor 
through  him,  inexplicable,  strange,  benumbing. 

"Not  cruel,  not  a  bit  cruel,"  he  said,  gently,  ab- 
stractedly, as  some  impulse,  a  part  of  this  new  emotion 
in  his  heart,  made  him  stroke  the  silky  hair,  whose 
touch  made  the  tremor  a  flood  of  that  mysterious  in- 

47 


THE    VAGABOND 

toxication  which  he  did  not  yet  recognize  as  the  joy 
of  kinship. 

"Thank  you,  grandpapa,"  she  said,  relieved,  but 
not  yet  quite  assured. 

Her  travelling  companion  now  appeared  to  occupy 
Mr.  Lanley's  polite  attention,  while  little  Miss  General 
recognized  the  presence  of  the  most  remarkable  being 
of  her  experience,  Marcus  Aurelius.  A  fringe  of  hair 
as  white  as  his  teeth  showed  between  the  antique  stove- 
pipe hat  and  the  ebony  of  his  face.  Hat  and  the  spike- 
tailed  coat  and  flaming  waistcoat  with  their  big  brass 
buttons  were  relics  of  his  and  his  master's  youthful 
days  abroad,  while  he  himself  was  the  flower  of  a 
regime.  There  was  something  in  the  very  sight 
of  him  to  make  a  small  girl  glow  with  trustful 
confidence. 

"Doan'  yo'  worry,"  he  said,  bowing  profoundly. 
"He  looks  like  er  cloud  dat's  gwine  t'  sto'm  monst'us 
hard,  but  de  sun's  des  behind.  I'll  take  yo'  t'  your 
keridge,  mist'ess." 

Mr.  Lanley,  overhearing,  raised  his  eyebrows,  mak- 
ing no  objection.  Marcus,  as  well  as  Hannah,  was 
arbitrary. 

The  carriage  was  a  part  with  master  and  servant, 
antique  and  self-respecting,  roomy  enough  for  a  whole 
family.  It  was  difficult  to  say  which  was  the  more 
wrinkled,  the  paint  on  the  high  box  or  the  face  of 
Josephus,  the  driver.  However,  Josephus's  coat  of 
varnish  was  more  recent. 

"There's  so  much  of  it  and  it's  all  very  old,"  she 
said,  when  she  was  seated  on  the  worn  cushions. 

"It's  de  Lanley  keridge,  an'  yo'  is  mist'ess,"  said 
Marcus,  as  if  that  were  the  same  as  saying,  "A  heav« 

48 


THE  VAGABOND 

enly  chariot  is  yours  and  all  the  clouds  your  private 
highway." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  ride  in  here,  too?"  she  asked. 

"No,  kase  my  place  is  on  de  box.  But  doan'  yo' 
worry.  Yo's  got  de  real  Lanley  blood.  I  kin  see  it 
frough  de  skin.  We'll  thaw  ole  Massa  des  as  easy,  yo' 
an'  me — des  as  easy  as  slippin'  on  greased  ice."  And 
Marcus  bowed  and  closed  the  door  with  a  ceremonious 
slam. 

After  Mr.  Lanley,  in  strictest  formality,  had  paid 
his  acknowledgments  once  more  to  the  lady  who  had 
accompanied  her,  he  acted  in  the  uncertain  manner 
of  a  hermit  endeavoring  to  adapt  himself  to  child- 
hood's humor. 

"Are  you  comfortable?"  he  asked. 

"I've  plenty  of  room,  thank  you,"  she  replied. 

"Perhaps  you'd  like  something  under  your  feet," 
he  went  on,  suggestively. 

"Thank  you,  if  it's — it's  proper  for  the  mistress  of 
Lanley  ton." 

There  she  had  asserted  her  right,  her  sense  of  duty, 
her  blood,  and  a  spirit  that  lighted  his  eyes  with  a 
gleam  of  pride.  Forthwith,  he  put  the  leather  cush- 
ions on  the  box  to  a  more  chivalrous  service;  and  the 
party,  unmistakably  Virginian  to  every  passer-by, 
started  over  the  uneven  cobbles  of  Washington,  a 
capital  village  rather  than  a  capital  city  in  that  day, 
Mr.  Lanley  riding  beside  the  carriage  in  silence  till 
she  spoke. 

"What  a  fine  horse  you  have,  grandpapa!" 

!N"o  compliment  except  on  his  wines  could  have 
been  more  telling. 

"You  like  horses?"  he  asked. 
49 


THE  VAGABOND 

"Of  course  I  like  'em.  Daddy  was  in  the  cav- 
alry." 

The  old  man  swallowed,  his  lips  twitched,  and  he 
looked  straight  ahead  without  another  word  until  they 
were  well  out  into  the  country.  Then  he  glanced  at 
the  carriage-window  and  studied  her  face.  She  would 
be  a  beautiful  woman,  no  doubt,  he  admitted. 

At  noon  they  stopped  under  the  shade  of  a  tree 
near  a  spring.  While  the  driver  unhitched  his  horses 
and  fed  them,  Marcus  Aurelius  proceeded  with  the 
knowing  skill  of  an  experienced  hand  to  a  function. 
First  he  spread  a  blanket  for  a  carpet  and  set  the  cush- 
ions for  seats;  next  a  linen  cloth  with  the  luncheon^ 
including  a  quart  of  Johannisberger  for  his  master. 

"Dere,  sah,  doan'  yo'  talk  t'  me  'bout  yoah  hotels!" 
he  observed,  surveying  his  finished  task. 

With  the  liquid  sunshine  of  the  Khine  on  his 
palate,  the  sunshine  of  his  beloved  State  suffusing  the 
landscape,  and  that  fair  young  face  looking  up  into 
his,  Mr.  Lanley's  humor  further  mellowed;  more  and 
more  his  mind  was  familiarized  with  the  full  reality 
of  a  new-born  affection. 

"Not  so  long  ago,"  he  said,  "this  was  the  only  way 
of  travelling  in  Virginia.  Which  do  you  like  better, 
our  old  carriage  or  a  railroad  train?" 

"The  train  is  very,  very  exciting  the  first  time,  but 
I  like  the  carriage  better.  It's  more  in-de-pen-dent. 
It's  ours,  isn't  it?" 

There  she  struck  the  Lanley  key-note.  Quizzically, 
as  an  old  man  will,  he  had  watched  for  signs  of  North- 
ern contamination. 

"Ours,"  he  repeated,  "ours !  Yes,  my  dear,  it  is 
our  old  carriage."  He  bent  over  and  kissed  her  on 

50 


THE    VAGABOND 

the  cheek.  "Your  name!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why,  I 
forgot  to  ask  that !" 

"Volilla  Bulwer  Lanley,"  she  replied. 

Yolilla!  It  was  his  wife's  name;  an  old  family 
name.  He  cupped  her  small,  brown  chin  in  his  old, 
wrinkled  hand  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 

"Volilla!"  he  repeated.    "Volilla!" 

"Mamma,  so  daddy  said — I  don't  'member  her — 
when  he  said,  you  see,  'What  shall  we  call  our  little 
girl'  ?  why,  mamma  said,  'Call  her  after  your  mother' ; 
'cause  then  mamma  thought  maybe  you,  grandpapa, 
would  forgive  her  and  like  me  and  think  she  wasn't 
so — so  bad.  And — oh,  I  oughtn't  to  have  told  you! 
You  mustn't  say  anything  against  my  mamma, 
'cause  I  couldn't  bear  it.  I  love  her." 

"No,  never,"  he  managed  to  say,  as  he  rubbed  his 
brows  with  his  finger  pathetically  and  looked  into 
space.  His  revery  showed  him,  finally,  as  well  as  the 
cruel  folly  of  the  past,  the  hope  of  all  the  reparation 
that  the  future  could  make.  "Forgive  me,"  he  said, 
pressing  his  cheek  against  hers. 

He  began  his  new  career  at  once.  While  he  talked 
of  Virginia  and  Virginia  ways  and  the  plantation  and 
plantation  ways,  Marcus  Aurelius  and  Josephus,  dis- 
membering a  fowl,  watched  furtively  the  descent  of 
tke  contents  of  the  wine-bottle.  They  knew  what 
their  master  would  say;  the  important  thing  was  when 
he  would  say  it.  Ordinarily,  he  drank  little  more 
than  a  pint ;  but  on  a  hot  day  there  was  no  telling. 

"Well,  do  you  want  to  wet  your,  rascally  tongues  ?" 
(The  usual  formula.) 

Giving  wine  to  servants  seemed  very  remarkable 
to  this  frugally  trained  Northern  girl ;  the  more  so  as 

51 


THE  VAGABOND 

it  was  accompanied  by  vituperation.  Josephus,  being 
nearest,  received  the  bottle. 

"See  whar  mah  thumb  is  ?"  he  observed,  plausibly, 
to  Marcus.  "All  b'low  dat's  yoahs." 

With  adept  quickness,  he  threw  back  his  head  and 
guzzled  all.  To  make  amends  for  the  outrage,  the 
master  gave  Marcus  Aurelius  a  cigar,  which  Marcus 
was  to  puff  patronizingly  into  Josephus's  face  on  the 
way  home. 

While  the  horses  were  being  rehitched,  Mr.  Lanley 
told  about  his  slaves — "two  hundred  and  ten,  I  think 
there  are,  now.  One  is  never  quite  certain,  for  a 
pickaninny  may  have  been  born  during  my  absence." 
He  helped  her  back  into  the  carriage  as  gallantly  as 
if  she  were  a  belle  and  he  a  beau  of  that  day  when 
civility,  which  now  stalks  abroad  alone,  had  polite- 
ness for  its  handmaiden. 

"Thank  you,  grandpapa.  You  did  that  very  pret- 
tily," she  twinkled. 

"I  could  not  have  done  it  awkwardly  for  you,  my 
dear,"  he  said,  and  lifted  his  hat  to  her  ladyship,  who 
thought  it  the  finest  "playing  house"  she  had  ever 
known.  It  was  not  playing  to  him.  He  was  actually 
twenty-one  again. 

Now  and  then  he  pointed  out  different  objects  along 
the  road-side,  his  thoughts  centred  on  a  certain  bound- 
ary-line. 

"Here  we  are,  my  dear,"  he  cried  at  last,  with 
enthusiasm  that  was  a  stranger  to  his  lips,  "here  our 
plantation  begins — our  three  thousand  acres!" 

"Oh,  goody!"  she  cried;  and  after  some  time:  "Are 
we  riding  clear  around  the  three — thousand — acres?" 

"No,  no,  my  dear.  The  house  is  quite  in  the  cen- 
52 


THE    VAGABOND 

tre  of  the  plantation.  There,  there!"  He  pointed 
with  the  eagerness  of  a  boy.  "There!  you  can  see  it!" 

Carriage  and  rider  halted.  Through  a  grove,  on 
the  summit  of  a  hill,  in  the  afternoon  sun  blinked 
the  Doric  pillars  of  Lanleyton,  and  above  them,  as  if 
sitting  on  the  tree-tops,  a  white  cupola.  The  master 
was  not  looking  in  that  direction  himself,  but  at  Yolil- 
la's  face,  beaming  with  wonder;  for  it  was  a  long 
time  since  he  had  enjoyed  the  great  pleasure  of  giving 
pleasure  to  others.  She  drew  a  sigh  and  sat  up  a 
little  straighter  before  she  spoke. 

"Am  I  to  be  the  only  lady  in  that  big,  big  house, 
and  of — of  the  three  thousand  acres?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  my  dear." 

"It's  a  great  'sponsibility,"  she  said.  "I'll  try — 
I'll  try  ever  so  hard,  grandpapa." 

Marcus  Aurelius  and  Josephus  paid  no  attention 
to  the  servants  who  came  running  from  the  house,  to 
the  hands  from  the  quarters,  or  even  to  the  pickanin- 
nies who  turned  handsprings  as  the  carriage  went  up 
the  drive  with  stately  deliberation,  its  occupant  as  se- 
renely dignified  as  if  she  were  used  to  such  ovations 
and  to  the  hypercritical  scrutiny  of  the  mammies. 
Without  any  of  the  gouty  "ohs"  or  "ahs"  to  which  he 
was  given,  Mr.  Lanley  dismounted.  With  his  own 
hand  he  opened  the  door  of  the  carriage  and  assisted 
her  ladyship  to  alight. 

"Thank  you,  grandpapa,"  she  said,  with  the  same 
easy  confidence  of  playing  house.  "I'm  so  glad  to  be 
home." 

Seizing  her  in  his  arms  and  carrying  her  shoulder 
high,  with  the  strength  of  his  impulse  and  his  great 
joy,  he  mounted  the  steps,  and  turning  to  that  black 

53 


THE    VAGABOND 

shadow  spattered  with  gleaming  teeth  and  eyeballs, 
cried: 

"My  people,  this  is  your  new  mistress !  You  are  to 
obey  her  every  word  as  you  would  mine." 

Clasped  tightly  in  her  hands  was  her  father's 
sheathed  sabre  whose  blade  still  had  a  battle  edge. 
Her  grandfather  had  only  faint  apprehension,  and  she 
had  none,  of  the  clouds  which  were  already  lowering 
on  that  proud  old  house,  whose  white  pillars  seemed 
as  stable  as  the  distant  heights  of  the  Blue  Ridges. 


54 


VI 

OK  STIFF  OLD  DRILL  SERGEANTS 

Billy  recognized  in  Captain  Bob  Herrick,  U.  S.  A., 
a  wholly  different  type  of  man  from  the  fat  police- 
man and  Abe  Parkins.  The  policeman  had  been  an 
Abe  Parkins  in  uniform.  The  Captain  was  an  en- 
tirely new  order  of  being.  Cunning  would  no  longer 
avail ;  and,  besides,  it  had  become  hateful.  Our  run- 
away developed  the  courage  of  desperation  and  of  his 
convictions.  The  smile  faded  and  the  whistle  died  on 
his  lips.  In  a  voice  that  trembled  as  an  engine  does, 
with  force,  he  narrated  his  story — Ann,  father,  Latin, 
the  mountain — all,  except  the  girl.  The  prisoner 
who  had  broken  no  laws  spoke;  the  prisoner  at  last 
free,  bent  on  a  definite  object,  sought  only  a  fair  field. 

"You,  sir,  a  big  man,  an  old  man,"  he  cried,  "would 
you  stop  a  boy  who  hasn't  harmed  you?  Would 
you,  you,  a  big  man,  rob  a  boy  of  his  liberty  for  fifty 
dollars — for  just  fifty  dollars?" 

His  words  came  faster  with  his  growing  indigna- 
tion; his  head  was  thrown  back  defiantly;  his  blue 
eyes,  unusually  tranquil,  in  nowise  belying  the  fire 
underneath,  received  the  enemy's  shafts  as  the  calm 
sea  receives  bolts  of  lightning.  All  the  soldierly  sen- 
timent of  Captain  Herrick's  nature  was  aroused  by 
such  courage  under  fire. 

55 


THE  VAGABOND 

"By  the  Eternal!"  lie  exclaimed,  professional  acu- 
men triumphant,  "I'd  like  to  enlist  you!" 

"Will  you  stop  me?"  Billy  repeated.  "Will  you, 
a  big  man,  stop  a  boy — just  for  fifty  dollars?" 

"Stop  you!  Bob  Herrick  ain't  been  in  the  United 
States  regular  army  for  forty  years  without  ever 
turning  a  red  cent  except  his  pay  to  start  kidnapping 
now!  Stop  you!  By  the  Eternal,  I'll  line  up,  dip  the 
colors  and  salute  you,  you  freckled  little  cuss!"  Over 
that  face,  all  fine-drawn  lines  of  sternness,  played 
now,  in  the  mobile  change  of  each  one,  a  veritable 
witches'  dance  of  amusement  and  good-humor.  "Stop 
you!  Lord  Almighty,  no!"  He  had  passed  into  the 
full-worded  habit  of  the  mess-room  where  officers 
make  amends  for  few-worded  routine.  "Not  un- 
less"— and  there  he  sniggered  high  up  in  his  nose, 
quizzically — "not  unless  you're  hungry.  How'd  you 
like  to  come  in  and  have  a  big  piece  of  p-i-e  ?" 

"A  piece  of  pie  so  you  can  lock  me  in?"  Billy 
asked. 

The  Captain's  expression  again  became  as  firm  as 
that  of  sheet-iron. 

"Do  I  look  like  a  man  who  would  lie?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"No,  sir.  You  would  not  lie — I'm  sure  you 
wouldn't;  and  I'd  like  that  piece  of  pie  very  much  if 
you  could  change  a  twenty-dollar  gold  piece  for  it." 

"Come  along,  you  vagabond!"  (That  nickname 
stuck.) 

"Yes,  sir,"  and  Billy  sprang  to  his  side  with  the 
impulse  of  an  appetite  born  of  a  brief  but  intense  con- 
templation of  pie. 

"That's  right.  Spoken  like  a  soldier.  Always  say 
56 


THE    VAGABOND 

sir.  Conversation  needs  a  handle  as  much  as  a  skillet, 
and  the  boy  that  uses  the  handle  won't  get  his  fingers 
burnt." 

The  Captain  led  the  way  to  his  living-room,  which 
was  indubitably  that  of  a  man  of  action.  On  the  shelf 
was  an  English  translation  of  Caesar's  Commentaries, 
of  Jomini,  and  a  few  other  works  equally  unrelated 
to  the  arts  of  peace.  On  the  walls  were  Indian  bows, 
arrow-heads,  and  head-dresses,  and,  what  was  of  more 
moment  to  the  boy,  an  engraving  of  the  City  of  Mexi- 
co with  Popocatapetl  bulking  out  of  perspective  in  the 
background. 

"Have  you  ever  climbed  that,  sir?"  Billy  asked, 
forgetting  all  else. 

"No.  I  went  up  a  good  piece.  I  don't  undertake 
to  say  how  high  it  is,  but  it's  a  regular  rip-snorter  of 
a  mountain." 

"Seventeen  thousand  feet,  sir."  Billy  knew  the 
height  of  all  the  big  mountains  of  the  world  by  heart. 

"I  suppose  you'd  just  shin  right  up  to  the  top,  first 
off." 

"I'd  try  hard,  sir.  Think  what  a  lot  you'd  see — 
you'd  see,  sir!" 

He  continued  to  ask  questions  about  Popocatapetl 
until  a 'servant  brought  something  more  edible. 

"You  can't  work  your  outsides  unless  you  fill  up 
your  insides,"  said  the  Captain.  "Set  to,  double 
quick!" 

The  Vagabond  sat  down  in  the  august  presence  of 
big  slices  of  cold  chicken  and  beef,  a  half  loaf  of  bread, 
a  pot  of  jam,  a  piece  of  pie,  and  a  pitcher  of  milk. 

It  is  one  of  the  rare  privileges  of  old  age  to  watch 
a  boy  eat.  The  Captain's  palate  tickled  with  every 

57 


THE    VAGABOND 

mouthful  that  ascended  on  the  fast-plied  fork;  and 
this  continued  scrutiny  increased  his  admiration  for 
his  guest,  whose  sore  hands  and  gingerly  manner  of 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  chair  left  no  doubt  of  the 
truth  of  the  latest  particulars  of  his  tale. 

"I  was  a  runaway  boy  myself,"  said  the  Captain. 

"You  were!"  cried  Billy,  rapturously.  "Oh,  I 
should  like  to  hear  all  about  it." 

"Yes,  sir.  I  ran  away  in  the  year  1800.  That's 
a  pretty  long  while  ago,  ain't  it  ?  I  was  bound  out  for 
my  keep  and  I  didn't  like  it  nohow.  I  ran  as  fast  as 
I  could  to  the  sea  and  got  aboard  a  ship,  a  sailor  for  to 
be,  as  the  saying  goes.  And  what  do  you  think  I 
sailed?  I  sailed  the  pots  and  pans  about  the  galley 
for  a  cross-eyed  cook!  Yes,  sir,  I  seen  a  good  deal  of 
the  world  by  sea  and  then  I  started  out  to  see  some 
of  it  by  land.  That's  how  I  came  to  be  carrying  a 
musket  in  1812." 

"You  fought  in  the  war  of  1812!"  cried  Billy. 
"You — you — didn't  fight  at  Lundy 's  Lane,  did  you  ?" 
Unconsciously  he  had  hit  upon  the  Captain's  favorite 
theme. 

"Did  I  ?  Well,  I  guess  I  did,  harder'n  I  ever  fit 
before  or  expect  to  fight  again.  We  fought  the 
British  there.  It's  Lundy's  Lane  that  got  'me  my 
commission — but  not  till  fifteen  years  after,  for  I'm 
a  pretty  old  man  to  be  a  Captain,  I'll  allow.  Well, 
sir,  I  was  carrying  a  musket  for  fifteen  years  before 
General  Scott — Colonel  Scott  he  was  then — came 
along  inspecting  a  Post  out  West  and  says:  'What! 
You  still  a  sergeant'  ?  Yes,  sir,  he  remembered  the 
youngster  that  picked  up  a  stand  of  colors  against  a 
Britisher's  protest — a  Britisher's  ineffectual  protest, 

58 


THE    VAGABOND 

sir.  And  General  Scott  shook  up  the  arm-chairs  in 
Washington  and  made  me  a  lieutenant,  sir!  Yes,  sir, 
and  I  helped  pay  him  back  down  in  Mexico  two  years 
ago.  There  was  a  campaign  for  you — a  campaign 
done  to  a  chalk  line!  No  rough-and-ready,  whoop- 
it-up,  don't-know-where-your-commissary-is,  never- 
mind-your-flankers  style  for  him.  He  waited  till  he 
was  good  and  ready  and  then  he  hit  the  greasers  in 
the  pit  of  the  stummick,  and  before  they  could  get 
their  breath  he  hit  'em  again,  and  kept  hitting  'em 
again  quiet  and  easy-like  all  the  way  to  'hellangone' 
and  the  City  of  Mexico.  And  now,  sir,  what  is  Con- 
gress going  to  do  ?  It's  going  to  investigate  General 
Scott!  Investigate  General  Scott!" 

After  this  explosion  the  Captain  wondered  why  his 
enthusiasm  should  have  carried  him  so  far  in  a  recital 
unsuited  for  a  boy's  ears. 

Except  for  the  conclusion  that  it  was  a  great  out- 
rage, the  Vagabond  was  very  much  in  doubt  both 
about  General  Scott  and  the  investigation.  However, 
the  interest  showing  in  his  face  was  that  of  an  intense 
partisan.  It  seemed  scarcely  possible  that  he  was  not 
in  a  dream.  Did  this  old  soldier,  did  the  food  and  the 
curios  on  the  wall,  really  exist? 

"Have  you  ever  been  around  the  world — clear 
around?"  he  asked,  as  if  an  affirmative  were  too  good 
to  believe. 

"Twice!  Sailing  pots  and  pans  the  first  time;  reef- 
ing sails  the  second." 

"Well,  you — you,"  said  Billy,  slowly,  as  he 
dropped  his  knife  and  fork,  "you  are  just  the  man  I 
wanted  to  meet." 

Had  the  Captain  seen  the  Andes  and  the  Hima- 
59 


THE    VAGABOND       , 

layas?  He  fired  a  fusillade  of  questions  while  lie  fin- 
ished his  meal;  and  then  his  host — a  thing  he  had  not 
done  since  he  came  to  the  Post — told  him  the  story  of 
his  trophies,  from  antlers  to  Indian  arrows.  "That 
head-dress  I  got  from  Crouching  Eagle  under  Tippe- 
canoe  William  Henry  Harrison,  against  the  red  dev- 
il's intentions,  too."  And  Billy  asked,  "How  ?"  as  he 
did  to  every  statement.  "Well,  sir,  he  tried  to  toma- 
hawk me,  but  I  hit  him  first.  It's  a  great  virtue,  that 
of  hitting  the  other  fellow  first,  son.  Saves  yourself 
trouble — He !  he ! — and  the  other  fellow,  too." 

Never  had  the  Captain  had  so  appreciative  a  listen- 
er. He  grew  young  in  heart  with  the  pleasure  of 
entertaining  youth.  At  the  same  time  that  he  felt 
foolish,  this  veteran,  telling  a  boy  the  story  of  his  life, 
he  was  more  elated  than  he  had  been  for  many  a  year. 
When  he  had  explained  the  origin  of  a  Toledo  blade 
captured  at  Mexico,  the  last  article  on  the  wall  whose 
history  was  untold,  he  said: 

"Now,  sitting  doesn't  seem  to  be  exactly  in  your 
department  to-day.  You'll  have  to  lie  down  the  way 
most  of  the  greasers  that  was  wounded  did  in  hospi- 
tal— on  your  belly.  Take  that  lounge  there!" 

Resting  his  chin  on  his  hands,  one  leg  in  the  air, 
the  Vagabond  looked  at  the  Captain  with  a  wistful- 
ness  that  not  only  called  for  more  but  sought  to  fore- 
stall the  breaking  of  his  dream. 

"After  the  war,  General  Scott  sent  me  out  here," 
the  Captain  went  on.  "He  said  it  was  a  good  place  to 
rest.  'Tis — too  good !  I  belong  a  little  farther  West. 
I  don't  feel  at  home  with  these  young  West  Pointers. 
When  it  comes  to  drawing  a  fort  out  of  your  head  I 
can't  quite  keep  step.  Handling  infantry's  my  busi- 

60 


THE    VAGABOND 

ness;  handling  it  in  a  war,  sir.  Yes,  sir,  and  as  it  hap- 
pens, they've  discovered  gold  in  California  and  they 
need  soldiers  out  there." 

"Gold!  Gold!"  repeated  the  Vagabond.  For  after 
the  girl  was  the  mountain,  and  after  the  mountain  the 
mine. 

"Yes,  sir,  gold !  The  Americans  found  it  after  the 
Spanish  had  been  looking  for  it  for  two  centuries. 
Yes,  sir.  So  General  Scott's  sending  my  company  to 
'Frisco.  There'll  be  plenty  of  work  out  there  and 
room  to  swing  a  cat  without  catching  its  claws  in  a 
New  England  town  meeting,  and  that's  what  Bob 
Herrick  likes.  Going  straight  around  the  Horn  in  a 
brig  called  the  Natty  Nancy,  Captain  Jabez  Goodrich 
commanding." 

Around  the  Horn  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  in  a  ship 
whose  very  name  tripped  like  an  adventurous  boy's 
heart-beats !  And  there  was  gold  in  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains and  the  girl  was  there !  His  eyelids  were  almost 
splitting,  while  his  imagination  soared.  He  supposed 
that  he  ought  to  say  something,  and  he  said  "Yes,  sir," 
with  a  great  sigh  of  longing. 

That  sigh  went  straight  to  the  Captain's  heart.  He 
had  never  seen  hope  and  anticipation  so  strongly  pict- 
ured on  any  human  face  as  in  the  freckled  one  before 
him.  Sixty  years  of  ill-health  is  selfishly  edging  tow- 
ard comfort ;  sixty  years  of  good  health  finds  its  hap- 
piness in  the  happiness  of  others.  He  knew  what  a 
lift  would  have  meant  to  him  when  he  was  running 
away.  The  project  that  entered  his  mind  was  worthy 
of  his  eccentricity  and  his  great  heart.  Suddenly  he 
put  on  his  full  official  severity  of  manner  and  de- 
meanor. 

61 


THE    VAGABOND 

"There's  three  kinds  of  skunks  in  this  world,"  he 
said;  "quitters,  cheap  quitters,  and  derned  cheap  quit- 
ters. A  quitter's  the  fellow  that  drops  into  a  ditch 
when  the  charge  is  sounded;  a  cheap  quitter's  the  fel- 
low that  falls  out  on  the  march  to  the  fight;  a  derned 
cheap  quitter's  the  fellow  that  gets  engaged  to  all  the 
girls  he  can  'fore  he  enlists  and  whoops  it  up  like  a 
brass  band,  but  gets  the  belly-ache  and  goes  to  the 
hospital  as  soon  as  there's  any  work  to  do.  Yes,  sir. 
And  what  kind  of  a  quitter  are  you  ?" 

The  Captain  asked  the  question  savagely.  The 
boy's  eyes,  which  had  met  his  unflinchingly,  met  them 
unflinchingly  still,  only  he  thrust  his  square  chin  for- 
ward indignantly. 

"I'm  no  kind  of  a  quitter,"  he  said,  decidedly. 

He  had  passed  the  recruit's  examination  without 
knowing  it.  The  Captain  hitched  his  chair  over  be- 
side the  Vagabond  with  something  of  the  caution  and 
zest  of  a  boy  who  is  approaching  the  shelf  where 
abides  the  jam-pot. 

"Say,"  he  asked,  unctuously,  "how'd  you  like  to  be 
my  boy  ?  How'd  you  like  to  go  to  California  with — " 

A  pair  of  arms  flew  around  the  Captain's  neck  in 
choking  embrace. 

"Oh,  sir,  honest,  honest?"  the  Vagabond  cried. 

"Honest  Injun,  if  you  don't  hug  me  to  death." 

"You — you're  just  the  man  I've  been  looking  for. 
I'm  so  happy  I  don't  know  what  to  say." 

"You  ain't  taken  the  oath  yet,"  added  the  Captain. 
"Stand  up  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  heels  together, 
head  thrown  back.  There,  that's  right!  Now,  you 
promise  on  your  honor  as  a  soldier  that  you'll  get  up 
every  morning  at  reveille?" 

62 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  won't  snivel  about  it?    You'll  never  snivel?'* 

"No,  sir.  I  didn't  snivel  once  while  I  was  running 
away." 

"Course  you  didn't.  S'pose  a  man  forty  years  in 
the  United  States  Army'd  want  you  'round  if  you  had? 
Promise  you'll  never  be  sassy;  you'll  never  call  me 
Cap,  but  always  Captain;  you'll  learn  the  manual  of 
arms  till  you  can  do  it  slick  as  a  sergeant-major?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"So  help  me  God!"  the  Captain  concluded,  almost 
fiercely. 

"So  help  me  God!"  the  Vagabond  repeated,  im- 
pressively. 

And  then  the  Captain  became  the  bigger  boy  of  the 
two.  The  Vagabond  asked  questions,  and  would  have 
gone  on  asking  questions  all  night  if  the  Captain  had 
not  had  a  bed  made  on  the  couch  and  warned  him  that 
it  was  time  to  turn  in. 

"I'm  just  too  happy  to  sleep,"  said  the  Vagabond; 
but  fatigue  showed  otherwise,  and  his  last  words  as  he 
dropped  off  were:  "Around  the  Horn  to  the  Rocky 
Mountains — the  Natty  Nancy,  Captain  Jabez  Good- 
rich. Just — think — of — it !" 

The  shadow  of  the  Captain's  body  was  between  the 
candle  on  the  table  and  the  couch.  For  some  time 
he  sat  in  revery,  wondering  what  had  made  him  adopt 
a  runaway  on  an  hour's  acquaintance.  He  tried  to 
analyze  the  Vagabond's  charm  and  could  not.  It  was 
impalpable  and  omnipresent.  Whenever  he  had  his 
folly  in  bold  relief  as  quickly  was  it  dissipated  by  the 
picture  of  the  boy  as  he  recited  his  story;  by  a  yearn- 
ing in  his  heart,  common  to  all  bachelors  with  neither 

63 


THE    VAGABOND 

kith  nor  kin,  which  had  been  satisfied  by  an  affection. 
Finally,  he  arose  to  go  above  to  his  living-room,  but 
stopped  on  the  stair.  He  had  forgotten  a  certain  func- 
tion for  the  first  time  since  his  incumbency  at  this 
Post.  So  he  returned  to  the  sideboard  and  poured  out 
a  good  two  fingers  of  the  best  New  Bedford.  On  the 
plains,  "where  a  man  lives  a  natural  life,"  he  forewent 
the  precaution;  but  in  the  East  he  regarded  his  con- 
stitutional night-cap  as  the  one  preventive  of  what  he 
called  the  "fevers  of  civilization." 

Back  on  the  stair,  he  paused  again.  "What  was  that 
he  heard?  His  adopted  son  had  awakened  and  was 
sobbing.  He  returned  and  put  the  candle  on  the  table. 

"Well,  well!"  he  said,  loudly. 

The  Vagabond  rose  from  his  pillow. 

"I'm  not  snivelling,  honest  I'm  not,"  he  said,  pas- 
sionately. "I'm  ashamed  of  myself.  I  was  mean  and 
selfish.  I  was  so  happy  I  forgot  Tim  Booker.  I  can't 
go  unless  he  goes,  too.  Tim  and  I  made  a  bargain.  I 
was  to  wait  for  him  and  he  was  to  catch  up  and  go 
with  me." 

The  old  man  had  changed  into  the  drill-sergeant  in- 
stantly, and  perplexity  was  added  to  his  severity,  as 
he  stood  with  one  hand  on  the  table  looking  even  more 
severe  than  he  had  at  the  barrack  gates.  He  felt  as 
if  he  had  been  cheated.  His  feeling  and  his  actions 
had  been  on  the  basis — which  pleased  him — of  a  boy 
who  had  been  projected  from  the  clouds,  unattended 
and  unconnected,  into  his  care.  And  he  was  a  man 
of  the  quickest  decision  in  all  matters. 

"Well,  sir,  I  can't  take  two !"  he  said,  sharply. 

"No  Natty  Nancy  I  No  voyage  around  the  Horn! 
Two  thousand  miles  on  foot  to  the  Rocky  Mountains! 

64 


THE    VAGABOND 

Billy  gulped  two  or  three  times.  He  moistened  his 
lips  with  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  A  wavering,  almost 
inaudible,  whistle  passed  between  them  and  a  forced 
smile  overspread  his  face  in  slow  effort. 

"Then,  sir,"  he  said,  with  his  head  thrown  back, 
"night's  my  best  time  for  travelling,  and  I  want  to  get 
away  from  those  notices,  where  I  can  write  to  Tim." 

"God  Almighty!"  exclaimed  the  Captain,  abstract- 
edly, in  his  admiration.  "But  I'd  like  to  enlist  you !" 

Billy  had  risen  and  was  valiantly  reaching  for  his 
hat. 

"No,"  said  the  Captain,  still  severely,  "you  stay 
here  all  night  and  all  day  to-morrow  and  rest  up. 
Then  you  can  travel  faster.  You  needn't  worry. 
I've  given  the  word  that  there's  no  use  of  looking  for 
you  here,  and  when  you  give  the  word  in  the  army 
there's  an  end  of  it.  "We  aren't  concealing  runaway 
boys,  no,  sir!  As  for  our  bargain,  it  was  for  one — one 
loy!" 

"With  that,  the  Captain  picked  up  the  candle  and 
Stamped  up  the  stairs  with  mixed  feelings  of  regret, 
chagrin,  and  rage. 


vn 

UNLESS    THEY    TAKE    TO    REASONING 

Certain  that  his  dream  was  shattered,  by  nature  of 
the  kind  that  does  not  cry  over  spilt  milk  but  looks 
sharply  to  the  remaining  whole  jars,  of  the  two  the 
Vagabond  slept  better  than  his  host.  In  the  middle 
of  the  night  the  Captain  found  himself  awake  and 
saying: 

"There's  loyalty  for  you!  There's  a  tent-mate! 
There's  a  boy  to  set  an  example  to  the  laggards  on  the 
march!" 

His  guest  was  still  asleep  when  he  descended  the 
stairs  at  sun-up.  He  drew  the  curtains  to  keep  out 
the  light,  and  tiptoed  out  of  the  room,  finding  in  this 
solicitude  a  pleasurable  sensation  that  he  could  not 
explain.  For  some  time  he  walked  up  and  down  in 
the  barrack  enclosure,  and  when  he  re-entered  his 
quarters  the  Vagabond  was  awake  and  cheerful — too 
cheerful  for  the  Captain's  self-esteem. 

"Seems  to  me,"  said  the  host  at  breakfast,  "that 
you've  got  a  pretty  big  job  on  your  hands,  walking 
clear  to  the  Rocky  Mountains." 

"Yes,  sir.  That's  why  I'll  like  it — if  I  can  only  get 
away  from  those  notices.  Those  notices  aren't  fair." 

This  was  precisely  the  soldier's  own  opinion,  and  he 
came  near  declaring  as  much,  emphatically. 

"But  you'll  meet  with  a  lot  of  obstacles,"  he  per- 
sisted. "It  ain't  thickly  settled  like  it  is  here — a  lot 
of  obstacles!" 

66 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Yes,  sir;  that  will  make  it  interesting.  Don't  you 
like  surprises,  sir?" 

"Hm-m-m!  Not  so  much  as  I  did  when  I  was  a 
boy." 

"Maybe  I  like  surprises  because  I  haven't  had  any. 
I  feel  just  as  if  a  lot  was  owed  me." 

"What  if  that  friend  of  yours,  Mr.  Booker " 

"Tim  Booker.    It's  too  funny  to  call  Tim  Mister!" 

"What  if  Tim  Booker,  when  he  comes  after  you — 
what  if  he  don't  want  to  go  to  the  Rocky  Mountains?" 

"He  said  he'd  travel  just  as  far  as  I  wanted.  He 
wants  to  see  the  world,  too." 

The  Captain  coughed.  He  was  a  little  jealous  of 
Tim  Booker.  Besides,  he  was  wroth  with  his  sol- 
dierly self  for  harping  on  a  matter  which  he  had  al- 
ready dismissed  with  a  decision.  Nevertheless,  he  went 
on  somewhat  querulously — for  him,  very  querulously: 

"You  must  like  Tim  pretty  well  to  hoof  it  to  the 
Rockies  with  him,  instead  of  having  a  ride  on  a  ship 
all  the  way." 

"It  isn't  liking.  It's  sticking  by  Tim  when  I  said 
I  would."  Billy's  eyes  grew  moist  with  the  thought 
of  what  he  had  lost.  "Oh,  sir,  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
say  anything  more  about  that.  It  makes  the  shivers 
go  up  and  down  my  back." 

"Very  good,"  said  the  Captain.  He  hitched  up  a 
little  closer  to  the  table  and  scowled  at  his  coffee-cup. 
"What  kind  of  a  man  is  this — this  Tim  Booker?"  he 
asked,  with  drill-sergeant  acerbity. 

"Oh,  he's  the  best  fellow  that  ever  was,  and  the 
biggest  liar,"  was  the  fitting  description. 

"Liar!  liar!"  thundered  the  Captain.  "And  you 
choose  to  run  away  with  him!" 

67 


THE    VAGABOND 

"But  his  eyes  always  twinkle  when  he  lies.  He 
just  lies  for  fun." 

"For  fun!"  roared  the  Captain. 

"He  makes  up  stories  to  amuse  you,  but  you  look  at 
him  sharp  and  he  tells  the  truth  every  time.  He's  all 
truth  and  heart  and  a  good  fellow,  is  Tim." 

"How  does  he  walk?  Like  this?"  The  Captain 
jumped  to  his  feet  and  slouched  across  the  room,  his 
breast  sunk  between  his  shoulders  in  imitation  of  a 
lout. 

"No,  sir;  like  this!"  was  Billy's  indignant  response; 
and  he  arose  and  made  a  circuit  around  the  Captain 
with  his  head  thrown  back  and  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets. "That's  where  I  learned  it  myself,"  he  added, 
proudly. 

"The  devil  you  did!"  The  Captain  took  two  or 
three  turns  on  his  own  account,  and  coming  to  a  stand- 
still abruptly,  said:  "Mind,  I'm  not  holding  out  any 
promises;  no,  sir!  But  I'm  going  to  send  for  Mr. 
Booker.  Maybe  we  can  patch  up  some  kind  of  an  ar- 
rangement." 

"Will  you!  Will  you!"  Billy  cried,  his  words  pal- 
pitating with  joy.  "I'll  write  to  Tim  at  once !" 

"Yes,  only  I'll  tell  you  what  to  say.  Remember, 
no  false  hopes!"  The  Captain  placed  ink  and  paper 
on  the  table.  "Captain  Robert  Herrick,  U.  S.  A.," 
he  dictated,  while  the  quill  creaked,  "has  offered  to 
adopt  me  and  take  me  to  California.  He  would  con- 
sider it  a  favor  if  you  would  come  to  this  Post  to  con- 
fer with  him  about  the  matter.  Yours  truly." 

"Is  that  all?"  Billy  asked,  rubbing  the  feather 
against  his  chin. 

"Yes,  all  A  soldier  is  brief,  my  son,  always  brief." 
68 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Mayn't  I  just  add  a  few  words  here?"  He  pointed 
below  his  signature. 

"What?" 

"This,  sir,"  and  the  Vagabond  scribbled  beneath 
the  formal  sentences :  "Tim,  please  do  hurry  up." 

This  oddity  of  a  letter  was  sealed  and  sent  and  the 
Vagabond  remained  the  Captain's  guest,  while  that 
notice  of  "Fifty  Dollars  Reward"  still  stared  from  the 
pillar  at  the  passers-by.  On  the  third  day  Tim,  at- 
tired in  store  clothes,  was  ushered  into  the  Captain's 
room.  His  first  act  was  to  shake  Billy  and  his  next 
to  hold  him  out  at  arms'  length  and  scan  him  from 
head  to  foot  fondly — all  this  quite  regardless  of  the 
presence  of  a  third  person. 

"Say,  Billy,  that  train  I  rode  on  went  a  hundred 
miles  an  hour." 

"No  train  goes  a  hundred  miles  an  hour!"  said  the 
Captain,  sharply. 

"This  one  did,"  drawled  Tim,  lowering  one  eyelid 
a  little — "while  I  was  telling  the  story." 

The  Captain  fairly  snorted.  This  seemed  to  amuse 
Tim,  who  was  still  inwardly  laughing  at  the  "plumb 
dumb  foolishness"  of  that  man  in  uniform  pacing  up 
and  down  between  the  pillars.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
it  would  not  be  quite  as  great  a  waste  of  energy  if  the 
sentry  were  given  a  teething  baby  to  hold. 

"That's  only  one  of  Tim's  jokes,"  said  the  Vaga- 
bond, trying  to  play  the  diplomat  in  this  critical  mo- 
ment. 

"It's  no  time  for  joking,  sir,"  said  the  Captain,  in 
his  most  official  tone.  "Let  us  get  to  business.  I 
have  proposed  to  adopt  this  boy  and  take  him  with  me 
to  California.  Yes,  sir,  I  propose  to  make  him  my 

69 


THE    VAGABOND 

own  son.  But  it  seems,  sir,  that  you  have  a  bargain 
with  him  to  travel  together.  I  hope,  sir,  you  aren't 
going  to  interfere  with  his  opportunity.  I  hope,  sir, 
you  will  see  the  point  and  release  him." 

The  Captain's  tone  was  as  fierce  as  his  gaze.  Tim 
replied,  blandly: 

"No,  sir.  I'm  all  ready  to  travel.  No,  sir,  I  won't 
release  him.  Do  you  stick  to  me,  Billy  ?" 

"Yes,"  Billy  faltered. 

"Yes,  he  does!"  roared  the  Captain.  "He's  loyal. 
On  my  word,  do  you  realize  what  you  are  doing?" 

He  proceeded  to  harangue  Tim  at  length,  and  fairly 
lost  his  temper  when  he  found  that  no  military 
brusqueness  could  faze  the  big,  self-respecting  farm- 
hand, a  fact  which  tended  to  raise  Tim  in  his  esteem. 

"Well,"  said  Tim,  "I've  got  the  gold  fever  about  as 
bad  as  any  man  that  ever  hoed  corn  for  sixteen  dollars 
a  month.  Suppose  you  let  me  go  'long  on  the  Natty 
Nancy.  I  guess  I've  got  enough  to  pay  my  fare." 

"Yes,  yes,  let's!"  Billy  cried.  He  sprang  into  the 
middle  of  the  room  and  saluted,  his  smile  and  his  eyes 
speaking  for  him  with  an  eloquence  greater  than 
words.  "If  you'll  let  Tim  go,  Captain,  I'll  have  my 
breakfast  before  reveille,  I'll  go  to  bed  an  hour  before 
taps,  I'll  do  the  manual  of  arms  a  dozen  times  a  day!" 

The  Captain  scowled  and  looked  away  from  them 
both  in  thought.  When  he  looked  back  he  had  turned 
the  catechist. 

"California's  some  distance  from  apple-pies,"  he 
said.  "You  ever  get  homesick,  Tim  Booker?" 

"Yes,  I  did  once — when  I  was  home.  That's  why 
I  run  away." 

"Now,  Mr.  Booker,  suppose  you'd  marched  till  your 
70 


THE    VAGABOND 

pack  was  a  lump  of  lead;  yes,  sir,  of  "burning  lead! 
Suppose  your  tongue  was  swelling  from  thirst;  sup- 
pose the  sun  was  a  furnace  that  kept  your  shirt  wet 
and  didn't  dry  it,  parboiling  your  back.  Suppose 
there  was  five  miles  to  do  'fore  camp  and  all  you'd  get 
when  'twas  pitched  was  sow-belly  (bacon)  'n'  hard- 
tack. Suppose,  then,  you  stumbled  on  a  piece  of  fruit 
right  in  your  path,  nice,  big,  juicy  fruit!  What'd 
you  do?" 

"Well,"  Tim  replied,  "I'd  be  thinking,  considering 
circumstances,  I  had  about  all  I  could  carry." 

"The  fruit,  sir!    What'd  you  do  with  the  fruit?" 

"Nothing.  I  wouldn't  want  to  carry  any  more  on 
my  back,  and  if  I  tried  to  carry  it  on  an  empty  stom- 
ach I'd  get  the  colic." 

"Mr.  Booker!"  The  Captain  threw  back  his  shoul- 
ders to  add  force  to  the  eulogy,  "I've  asked  a  thousand 
rookies  that  question.  They  all  tried  to  say  something 
real  smart,  so  what  did  they  say?  Yes,  sir,  what  did 
they  say?  They  said  they'd  divide  with  the  next  fel- 
low in  the  ranks!  Then,  sir,  two'd  have  the  belly- 
ache !"  he  concluded,  triumphantly. 

"I  don't  see  much  good  in  that,  'cept  they'd  be  com- 
p'ny  for  one  'nuther,"  Tim  rejoined. 

The  Captain  slapped  his  knees,  while  he  laughed 
heartily: 

"You've  got  a  sense  of  humor,  sir,"  he  kept  repeat- 
ing, "a  sense  of  humor,  sir!  Only  they  wouldn't  be 
company.  One'd  say  the  other'd  poisoned  him,  and 
the  other'd  call  him  an  ingrate.  Mr.  Booker,  I'm  a 
soldier  and  you're  not.  At  first  thought,  we're  not  the 
kind  to  get  on  together  at  all.  But,  Mr.  Booker,  you 
hold  your  head  up ;  you  look  me  in  the  eye,  sir.  I  want 

71 


THE  VAGABOND 

you  to  come  along  and  I'll  arrange  it  with  Captain 
Jabez  Goodrich,  sir." 

The  Vagabond's  joy  was  too  great  for  expression  in 
words — he  hugged  the  Captain. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Tim,  finally.  The  Captain 
had  used  so  many  "sirs"  that  Tim  thought  he  could 
afford  one  himself.  "You've  been  square  with  me 
and  I'll  be  square  with  you,  sir.  Honest,  I  didn't  in- 
tend to  stand  in  Billy's  way  to  the  last.  I  wanted  to 
see  how  much  Billy  cared  for  me.  I'm  dreffle  fond 
of  him — I'm  so  fond  of  him  I  wouldn't  do  anything 
to  hurt  his  chances.  If  I'll  be  any  bother,  you  take 
Billy  and  leave  me  behind." 

"I'm  damned  if  I  do!"  roared  the  Captain.  "After 
speaking  up  like  that,  you  go  with  us,  Mr.  Booker; 
yes,  sir,  you  go  with  us!" 

This  seemed  to  settle  the  matter  for  good  and  all; 
and  it  would  if  the  Captain  had  not  happened  to  re- 
read that  notice  on  the  pillar  carefully.  As  a  conse- 
quence, he  not  only  appreciated  Judge  John  Will- 
iams's  importance  in  the  world,  but  he  recalled  a  bit 
of  information  from  the  Vagabond's  own  tale,  name- 
ly, that  the  Judge  was  the  Vagabond's  uncle.  Start- 
ing with  this  premise,  argument  after  argument  rose 
in  opposition  to  his  course.  First  of  all,  he  was 
literally  stealing  a  boy  from  his  guardian ;  and  who 
should  obey  the  law  if  not  a  soldier  ?  he  asked  him- 
self. The  Judge,  he  learned,  was  a  bachelor,  with  no 
family  ties  in  the  world  except  his  nephew,  and  here 
was  a  man  of  honor  proposing  to  take  a  ward  from  a 
lawful  guardian  by  stealth.  When  his  doubts  had 
gone  this  far,  he  sought  the  confidence  of  Tim ;  and 
together,  when  Billy  was  entertaining  himself  to  his 

72 


THE  VAGABOND 

heart's  content  by  drawing  pictures,  they  walked 
across  the  fields  in  consultation.  All  the  Captain's 
fears  became  Tim's. 

"Now  you  look  at  it  in  that  way,"  Tim  said,  in  that 
drawl  which  stood  for  the  bed-rock  of  his  nature, 
"that's  what  we  are — a  pair  of  kidnappers.  I  guess, 
though  you  are  a  soldier  and  I'm  a  farm-hand,  there's 
something  between  us.  We're  both  chockf  ul  of  senti- 
ment. We  ain't  either  of  us  got  any  kith  or  kin,  and 
we're  so  independent  we're  selfish.  I  guess  because 
ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  men  would  laugh  at  us 
for  a  pair  of  fools  that  don't  make  us  any  less  so. 
All  we've  been  thinking  of  is  our  own  pleasure.  Billy 
has  a  way  with  him — a  way  of  talking  up  and  looking 
at  you  with  those  blue  eyes  of  his — that  makes  you 
want  to  help  him  get  what  he  wants." 

''By  the  Eternal!  That's  it  exactly,"  assented  the 
Captain.  "The  way  he  told  his  story  to  me — well, 
sir,  I've  never  been  so  affected  before  in  my  life.  I 
was  a  boy  again.  I  don't  mean  in  imagination;  I 
mean  in  the  flesh,  in  the  heart!" 

"Well,  I  seen  him  live  what  he  told  you.  I  seen 
him  smiling  when  he  was  in  jail,  smiling  to  think  of 
how  he  was  going  to  travel  one  day  and  climb  his 
mountain.  Well,  I  was  a  vagabond  at  heart  myself. 
I  wanted  to  travel  with  him.  I  wanted  him  to  have 
his  heart's  desire.  Come  to  think  of  it,  about  all  we 
can  do  for  him  is  to  show  him  the  mountain.  In  the 
world  as  we  know  it,  that  ain't  much.  Why,  if  a  vote 
of  Belmore  County  was  to  be  taken  on  who'd  make 
the  best  guardian  of  a  boy,  the  Judge'd  win  out  by  a 
whopping  majority.  He  can  do  everything  you  'n'  I, 
as  I  look  at  it,  can't  do.  Why,  he  will  send  him  to  col- 

73 


THE  VAGABOND 

lege,  probably  Harvard  or  Yale!"  (To  college!  In 
these  days  we  scarcely  appreciate  the  charm  of  the 
word  in  the  New  England  of  '49.)  "No,  sir,  we 
haven't  got  any  right,  Captain.  We're  playing  fairy 
story.  We're  a  pair  of  sentimental  fools — God  please 
you,  I'm  proud  of  being  one! — but  we've  no  right  to 
rob  that  boy  of  his  opportunities." 

It  was  the  longest,  most  serious  speech  Tim  had 
ever  made,  and  it  throbbed  from  the  depths  of  his 
nature. 

"No,  sir,  we've  not ;  no,  sir !"  said  the  Captain,  with 
decision.  "We've  got  to  turn  him  over  to  the  Judge 
and  there's  an  end  of  it.  But  who's  going  to  tell 
him?"  the  veteran  asked,  almost  fearfully.  "  I've 
stormed  Chapultepec  and  I've  fought  Injuns  hand  to 
hand  and  British  regulars  face  to  face  all  day  long; 
but  that's  nothing  beside  this  job.  I'll  start,  but  if  I 
begin  to  stumble  on  account  of  the  way  he  looks  at 
me  with  those  blue  eyes,  you've  got  to  jump  in  and 
help  me  out." 

"I  will.  The  two  of  us  ought,  to  make  it  together 
all  right.  If  I  had  to  do  it  alone  I'd  want  to  be  blind- 
folded." 

So  the  pair,  their  minds  made  up,  walked  back 
slowly  and  found  Billy  drawing  a  portrait  of  the  ser- 
geant-major, while  he  artfully  gleaned  much  about 
the  personality  of  a  certain  girl,  the  information  as  to 
her  charms  as  a  "good  fellow"  entirely  according  with 
his  expectations.  The  Captain  asked  him  to  come  in- 
side, and  after  "We've  something  to  tell  you,"  and 
several  coughs,  with  the  assistance  of  Tim,  he  made  his 
decision  known.  Of  the  three,  the  boy  was  the  most 
masterful.  He  threw  back  his  head;  he  whistled  the 


THE  VAGABOND 

dismallest  of  trills  and  he  forced  a  smile,  as  Tim  had 
bidden  him,  the  while  he  looked  at  Tim,  who  shifted 
his  gaze  to  the  wall.  His  wondering  blue  eyes  said 
"And  thou,  too,  Brutus"  ?  His  quivering  lips,  mak- 
ing no  sound,  bespoke  his  misery  over  the  revelation 
of  friends  turned  enemies.  Thus  he  shamed  them, 
and  also  with  his  grave  taciturnity  which  bespoke  a 
heart  too  full  for  utterance.  To  the  announcement  by 
the  Captain  that  they  would  start  for  Belmore  on  the 
morrow,  he  replied,  "Yes,  sir" ;  and  a  "yes,  sir,"  or 
"no,  sir,"  was  the  most  that  he  said.  His  elders  were 
embarrassed,  and,  truth  to  tell,  almost  in  tears.  Billy 
sat  for  some  time  quite  still  after  they  had  left  the 
room  in  search  of  change  and  relief  from  his  appeal- 
ing eyes.  Then  he  went  to  the  table,  screwed  his  legs 
around  the  leg  of  a  chair,  and  picking  up  the  quill 
wrote: 

"DEAR  FRIENDS: 

"'No  doubt  you  think  you  are  doing  what  is  best  for 
me.  There  is  just  where  we  disagree.  I  suppose,  as 
you  say,  most  boys  would  be  glad  to  have  such  a 
guardian  as  the  Judge.  I  don't  know  any  other  boys. 
I  just  know  what  kind  of  a  boy  I  am  myself.  I  just 
know  that  I  wouldn't  like  to  live  with  the  Judge. 
For  I  looked  him  over  very  carefully.  He  would  be 
all  the  worse  because  he  looks  and  acts  so  wise.  He 
would  put  his  hand  on  my  head  and  twiddle  his  watch- 
fob  and  say:  'Now,  go  learn  your  lessons,  William, 
and  maybe  you  will  know  as  much  as  I  do  some  day/ 
I  don't  want  to  know  as  much  about  the  same  things 
he  does.  I  want  to  know  about  things  he  don't  know 
about.  There's  where  we  disagree,  and  what  is  the 

Y5 


THE    VAGABOND 

good  when  you  disagree?  Why,  when  you  disagree, 
you  go  your  way  and  the  other  fellow  goes  his. 

"I  don't  see  what  claim  the  Judge  has  got  on  me. 
He  never  came  to  our  place  before  my  father  died. 
All  he  thinks  is,  'I  have  got  to  take  care  of  this  little 
boy,  I  suppose,  and  look  wise  and  smile  sometimes,  as 
a  matter  of  duty.'  I  don't  want  to  be  his  son,  and, 
when  he  does  not  want  me,  why  should  I?  My  bar- 
gain with  you,  Tim,  was  to  run  away.  My  bargain 
with  the  Captain  was  to  go  around  the  Horn.  You 
broke  your  bargains.  You  remember  I  asked  you, 
Captain,  if  you  invited  me  into  your  house  just  to 
lock  me  in.  I  liked  you  both  so  much,  you  have  al- 
most broken 'my  heart.  But  I  would  not  be  very  much 
of  a  man  if  I  stopped  travelling  because  two  friends 
deserted  me. 

"I  do  not  think  it  exactly  fair  of  you  to  help  the 
Judge.  I  suppose  it  is  because  you  are  so  old  you  do 
not  understand  a  boy's  heart.  I  don't  want  you  to 
feel  hard  toward  me,  either,  for  doing  what  I  cannot 
help.  All  the  time  I  lived  in  that  old  house  I  was 
thinking  of  the  time  when  I  should  be  free.  When  it 
seemed  so  hard  being  shut  up  because  it  seemed  just 
as  if  I  was  born  to  travel,  I  used  to  pluck  up  my  cour- 
age thinking  that  some  day  I  would  have  a  mountain 
all  to  myself.  Now  I  am  free  I  will  not  go  into  bond- 
age again.  As  soon  as  I  get  away  from  those  notices 
I  will  get  along  all  right.  A  boy  can  sleep  almost 
anywhere.  I  never  did  like  feather-beds.  They  are 
too  stuffy,  anyway.  A  boy  can  earn  enough  to  eat, 
you  said  so,  Tim,  so  long  as  he  holds  his  head  up. 
Maybe  I  will  be  three  or  four  years  reaching  the 
Rocky  Mountains."  (Here  he  had  an  impulse  to  tell 

76 


THE  VAGABOND 

toho  had  gone  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  before  him, 
what  an  object  he  had.  But  the  girl  was  his  secret, 
which  he  vowed  never  to  share  with  anyone.)  "What 
if  I  am  three  or  four  years?  I'll  be  moving  all  the 
time ;  moving,  moving,  and  that  is  what  I  have  always 
said  I  would  do  when  I  was  free.  You  said  it  right, 
Captain,  when  you  said  I  was  a  vagabond.  The  Judge 
may  catch  me,  but  he  cannot  keep  me.  Tell  him  that 
for  me,  so  he  will  know  that  I  gave  him  fair  warning. 
I  will  run  away  from  him  every  chance  I  get  and  keep 
on  running  until  I  am  away  for  good. 

"There,  that  is  all,  I  guess.  I  have  written  a  lot 
because  I  feel  such  a  lot.  I  am  leaving  all  the  money 
you  gave  me,  Tim,  except  what  I  spent.  I  will  pay 
back  the  rest  as  soon  as  I  can.  Thank  you,  Tim,  for 
all  your  good  advice  and  making  me  laugh  so  often 
when  I  needed  laughs  a  lot.  It  is  hard  to  say  good- 
by,  but  I  must.  Good-by,  Tim.  Good-by,  Captain. 
I  hate  to  sneak  away,  but  I  must. 

"Yours  truly, 

"Bm,Y. 

"P.  S. — I  am  leaving. some  pictures  I  drew  of  you 
both,  to  remember  me  by." 

The  letter  was  finished  and  fast  in  the  Vaga- 
bond's pocket  when  the  Captain  and  Tim  returned  to 
the  little  sitting-room.  Through  the  rest  of  the  day 
he  was  as  tractable  as  ever,  if  he  had  little  to  say. 
After  his  elders  were  asleep  he  placed  the  folded  sheet 
on  the  table  with  the  gold  piece  as  a  weight,  and,  turn- 
ing the  catch,  lifted  the  window  softly,  inch  by 
inch,  and  recommenced  his  journey  into  the  world. 

77 


vin 

WHEN"    YOU    MUST    STAET    AFEESH 

This  time  he  did  not  follow  the  setting  sun,  for 
he  had  an  idea  that  his  pursuers,  knowing  his  bent, 
would  move  westward.  Also,  he  thought  that  the 
zone  of  the  notices  might  not  be  as  broad  as  it  was 
long  and  he  could  pass  out  of  it  sooner  by  going 
toward  the  north.  Here  he  was  in  error.  His  first 
descent  upon  a  village  revealed  the  reward  for  him 
still  standing  beside  that  of  the  reward  for  Bingo,  the 
slave. 

On  the  morning  of  the  second  day  he  began  to 
realize  that  berries  are  not  as  sustaining  as  a  mixed 
diet.  He  dared  not  follow  the  road  for  fear  of  dis- 
covery. The  sun  was  hot,  his  path  one  never-ending 
field  of  stubble.  When  fatigue  and  hunger  had 
made  his  legs  wabbly,  the  sight  of  a  tumble-down 
shanty,  left  by  the  Irish  workmen  who  had  built  the 
railroad  ten  years  before,  suggested  both  conceal- 
ment and  rest. 

"I'll  sleep  till  after  dark,"  he  told  himself,  "and 
then  I'll  travel  all  night,  and  in  the  morning — yes, 
I'll  risk  it." 

By  risking  it  he  meant  that  he  would  ask  to  split 
wood  or  do  anything  else  he  could  turn  his  hand  to 
in  order  to  earn  his  breakfast.  The  door  of  the 
shanty  was  closed.  He  began  to  push  it  in,  when  a 
great,  thick  voice  from  the  inside  cried: 

78 


THE    VAGABOND 

"I  kill  yo'l  I  kill  yo'I  Sho's  theh's  a  Gawd  in 
hebben,  I  kill  yo'  'fore  I  go  back  Souf !" 

"Have  a  look  at  a  thing  before  you  get  scared 
about  it,"  Billy  warned  himself. 

He  desisted  in  his  effort  only  to  satisfy  his  curi* 
osity.  He  crept  to  the  window  and  peeked  in  to  see 
a  Titanic  negro,  the  blurry  whites  of  his  eyes  show- 
ing wide,  with  a  club  uplifted,  ready  to  lay  on  the 
head  of  the  intruder. 

"You  needn't  fear  me,"  Billy  said.  "I'm  not  go- 
ing to  take  you  South." 

At  sight  of  the  boy,  Bingo  dropped  his  club,  open- 
ing his  mouth  as  wide  as  his  eyes  and  showing  twice 
as  much  white. 

"Good  Lawd  o'  mercy!  It's  only  a  bo-oy,  a  IT 
bo-oy!  I  was  'sleep  dar."  He  pointed  to  a  quilt  in 
a  corner.  "I  done  had  a  dream.  Dey  wuz  han'cuffin' 
me.  I  jump  up  an'  dar  wuz  somebody  at  de  doah. 
De  dream's  comin'  true,  I  says.  De  good  Lawd  has 
wawned  me.  Ise  a'most  out  o'  de  wilderness  now 
an'  I  done  gwine  t'  die  an'  go  t'  de  Promise'  Lan'  one 
way  or  tother." 

Billy  began  to  climb  in  at  the  window.  Already 
he  regarded  Bingo  as  only  a  big  child  to  be  humored. 

"Where  is  the  Promised  Land?"  he  asked. 

"Up  in  Can'dy.  All  niggahs  is  free  dyah  an'  kin 
hoi'  up  deir  haids  same  as  white  men." 

"Well,  you  want  to  hold  up  your  head  anyway,  if 
you  expect  to  escape,"  observed  Billy,  sagely. 

Hunted  himself,  his  young  heart  went  out  to  the 
hunted.  He  would  not  then  have  joined  in  the  chase 
of  a  dog.  The  sight  of  this  poor,  speaking  piece  of 
property  in  his  own  form  ever  remained  with  him. 

79 


THE    VAGABOKD 

Bingo  explained  that  lie  was  kept  in  hiding  here 
until  his  allies  in  breaking  the  law  were  ready  to  send 
him  on  to  the  next  station,  where  other  abolitionists 
would  do  as  much  for  him. 

"Dey's  monst'ous  good  to  me,  dey  is.  Ham  'n' 
eggs  fer  brekfus  an'  pie — an'  pie!" 

"Pie  for  breakfast?"  asked  Billy. 

"No !  Lawd,  no !  Co'se  not.  Dis  yearth  ain'  heb- 
ben  nohow.  Pie  fer  dinnah — two  pieces!  Ef  yo'  is 
a  runaway  yo'  go  t'  dat  white  house  ober  dyah.  Dey's 
white  folks,  dey  is,  brack  man's  white  folks." 

"Who  are  they  ?"  Billy  asked. 

"Dey  is  Missy  F'lissy,  des  Missy  E'lissy.  My! 
She's  des  mos'  monst-ous  prim !  Yes,  suh,  ef  yo's  a 
runaway  yo'  go  see  her." 

"I'm  going  to  have  a  look  at  her,  Bingo."  Billy 
held  out  a  palm  whose  blisters  from  the  freight  car 
coupling  were  turning  to  callous. 

"Yo',  a  white  boy — wid  a  niggah!  Lawd!  Ise 
near  de  Promise'  Lan'  fo'  sho." 

He  enveloped  Billy's  hand  in  his  great  fingers. 
Abolitionists  had  fed  him,  secreted  him  at  the  risk  of 
prosecution,  petted  him  as  if  he  were  a  precious  sou- 
venir, and  yet  this  boy,  with  genuine  camaraderie, 
was  the  first  to  offer  him  the  grasp  of  social  equality. 

Blinking  through  the  foliage,  Billy  could  see  from 
the  shanty  itself  pieces  of  white  pillar  and  white  wall 
of  the  place  that  befriended  runaways.  Unobserved 
he  approached  until  he  was  under  the  cover  of  a  large 
evergreen-tree  in  the  yard.  From  this  vantage-point 
he  studied  the  situation. 

Here  was  a  house  set  back  in  seclusion  from  the 
road,  yet  as  different  from  the  one  he  had  known,  as 

80 


THE   VAGABOND 

new  from  rusty  tin.  On  the  porch  sat  a  personage 
in  keeping  with  her  surroundings.  From  the  high 
shell-comb  in  her  back  hair  to  her  kid  slippers,  there 
were  no  napping  ends  in  the  neat  make-up  of  Miss 
Felicia,  only  daughter  of  the  late  Senator  Hope.  Her 
years  were  thirty,  perhaps,  her  primness  making 
them  indefinite  at  first  glance.  She  was  crocheting 
a  strip  of  lace  in  the  manner  of  one  who  must  do 
so  many  inches  in  a  certain  length  of  time  or  lose 
caste  forever.  The  ensemble  of  house  and  lady,  and 
especially  the  mechanical  and  unceasing  course  of 
the  long  needle  in  and  out,  convincing  as  it  was  of  a 
well-stocked  larder,  at  the  same  time  suggested  noth- 
ing less  than  sympathy  with  boys  who  did  not  remain 
strictly  under  the  wing  of  their  guardians. 

His  discretion  was  dulling  his  hunger;  he  was 
about  to  depart  when  the  lady  looked  up  from  her 
work  and  smiled,  not  in  the  least  merrily,  not  beam- 
ingly, but  quietly,  sedately,  in  the  manner  of  one 
who  contemplates  a  good  deed.  At  least,  she  was  in 
favorable  humor.  Surely,  living  in  this  big  house 
well  on  the  outskirts  of  a  village,  she  had  not  read 
that  notice,  said  his  stomach,  throwing  the  balance  in 
its  favor. 

The  next  moment,  hat  in  hand,  Billy  stood  before 
Felicia  Hope. 

"Could  I  split  some  wood  for  you  for  a  piece  of 
bread  and  butter?"  he  asked. 

"Nobody  willing  to  work  ever  came  to  the  Hope 
house  and  went  away  hungry,"  she  replied.  "You're 
pretty  young  to  be  tramping.  Where  are  you  from, 
the  village?" 

The  last  word  was  spoken  mechanically.  Billy  saw 
81 


THE  VAGABOND 

that  she  was  looking  him  over  from  head  to  foot.  He 
could  fairly  hear  her  thinking:  "Freckled  face,  lin- 
sey-woolsey pants,  gingham  shirt,  blue  eyes,  and  head 
held  high."  . 

"I'm  not  as  hungry  as  I  thought,"  he  said,  hastily. 
It  was  the  only  excuse  that  came  to  his  mind.  "I'll 
hurry  along." 

He  turned  abruptly  on  his  heel,  only  to  see  a  figure 
in  beaver  hat  and  black  coat  entering  the  gate — a 
figure  that  he  instantly  recognized  as  his  uncle.  He 
was  going  to  dodge  behind  the  trees  and  make  a  run 
for  it,  but  realized  the  futility  of  the  effort.  If  the 
Judge  could  not  overtake  him,  he  might  find  some- 
one less  portly  who  would.  It  was  an  awful  fate 
to  be  trapped  between  that  severe,  high  shell-comb 
and  that  severe  high  hat.  Never  had  he  so  wished 
for  man's  estate  and  especially  a  man's  legs.  The 
Judge  laid  his  hand  on  his  nephew's  head,  which 
was  precisely  what  his  nephew  had  feared  that  he 
would  do. 

"Well,  well!"  he  said.  "You  got  tired  of  running 
away  and  thought  Belmore  wasn't  such  a  bad  place 
after  all,  my  prodigal?" 

Prodigal !  Billy  had  always  hated  that  story.  He 
regarded  the  prodigal  as  the  rankest,  most  worthless 
"quitter"  on  record. 

"I  didn't  know  this  was  Belmore,"  he  stormed 
back.  "I  came  north  to  get  away  from  those  notices. 
You  let  me  go  and  I'll  show  you,  sir.  You  take  down 
those  notices  and  you'll  just  have  to  come  to  the  Kocky 
Mountains  if  you  want  to  see  me.  I'll  leave  it  to 
that  lady.  All  I  asked  was  to  split  wood  for  some- 
thing to  eat." 

82 


THE    VAGABOND 

"You  have  some  spirit,  I  see,"  the  Judge  observed, 
with  a  smile  of  satisfaction  which  Billy  completely 
misinterpreted.  It  set  him  into  a  trembling  rage. 
He  felt  as  if  he  were  a  mouse  being  played  with  by 
a  cat. 

"Do  you  have  to  keep  your  hand  on  my  head  just 
to  show  how  big  you  are  and  how  small  I  am?"  he 
demanded. 

"Oh,  no,  William,"  the  Judge  replied.  "But  I'm 
not  going  to  let  you  run  away  again — not  just  yet. 
Your  persistence  is  really  very  creditable.  Suppose 
we  have  something  to  eat  and  then  we'll  talk  the 
matter  over." 

By  this  time  Billy  saw  the  futility  of  anger  and 
was  once  more  John  Smith's  son  going  after  the 
weekly  paper. 


S3 


IX 

FEARING     NOT     A     JUDICIAL     MIEN 

The  Judge's  calls  on  Miss  Felicia  were  of  too  long 
standing  to  be  a  topic  of  discussion.  They  had  be- 
come merely  a  matter  of  opinion  in  the  county  seat 
whence  Plaronville  sent  her  squabbling  lawyers,  her 
jurors,  and  her  criminals.  "She'll  have  him  yet," 
said  the  Democrats.  "Never,"  said  the  Whigs. 

His  attentions  had  begun  when  her  father  was 
still  the  ruler  of  the  Whig  stronghold  of  the  State, 
and  he  was  a  struggling  young  lawyer  of  unflagging 
Democratic  principles.  Far  from  allowing  public 
knowledge  of  the  failure  of  his  petitions  to  the 
throne  to  discourage  him,  he  continued  them  with 
the  gentle  persistence  of  an  equable  and  confident 
nature.  Incidentally,  he  was  Miss  Felicia's  attorney. 
She  asked  his  advice  in  the  management  of  the  estate 
that  the  Senator  had  left  her;  pretended  to  believe 
it  quite  unsound,  and  usually  followed  it. 

She  owed  his  call  on  this  occasion  to  the  poor, 
stupid  fifteen  hundred  dollars  worth  of  property  lying 
on  a  quilt  in  a  shanty.  Everyone  knew  of  the  lady's 
strong  Abolition  sentiments;  no  one  suspected  that 
His  Honor,  who  had  been  elected  by  Democratic 
votes,  was  assistant  keeper  of  a  station  of  the  under- 
ground route  that  sent  slaves  to  Canada.  After  every 
rescue  he  told  her  that  he — he,  a  judge — would  never 
consent  to  break  a  statute  again,  however  inhuman 

84 


THE  VAGABOND 

it  was.  She  replied,  with  precise  choice  of  language, 
that  she  was  far  from  need  of  assistance  from  one 
who  was  so  timid.  Nevertheless, 'when  word  came 
from  the  receiving  bureau  in  Maryland,  she  had  only 
to  despatch  a  note  to  the  court-house  for  her  recruit 
to  enter  into  the  work  with  a  youthful  enjoyment 
and  cunning  which  his  legal  sense  strongly  con- 
demned. 

Besides  the  slave,  these  two  good  people  now  had 
the  boy  to  consider.  Miss  Felicia  first  introduced 
him,  sternly,  to  forestall  the  resistance  that  she  ex- 
pected, to  a  big  basin  of  water.  He  surprised  her 
by  thrusting  his  head  into  it  with  a  great  splatter. 
Cleanliness  was  inherent  in  him.  While  he  sat  up 
at  the  table  eating  what  a  colored  maid — whose  free- 
dom had  been  bought — put  before  him,  the  Judge 
and  Miss  Felicia  were  discussing  both  runaways.  It 
was  agreed  that  the  boy  should  remain  with  her  for 
the  present.  She  insisted  permanently,  and  the 
Judge  replied  that  their  first  object  must  be  to  dis- 
abuse him  of  his  vagaries  and  make  him  happy  and 
contented. 

"You'll  be  comfortable  here  to-night,"  he  told 
the  Vagabond  on  leaving  the  house.  "To-morrow, 
when  you  are  rested,  I'll  show  you  Belmore  and  we'll 
have  a  talk." 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  reply — an  inscrutable  "yes, 
sir,"  that  made  the  Judge  pucker  his  brows. 

The  Vagabond  had  put  himself  on  record  as  in- 
tending to  run  away  and  to  keep  on  running  away 
until  he  was  pursued  no  farther.  He  even  received 
encouragement  to  stick  to  his  threat  from  the  colored 
maid  who  put  him  to  bed. 

85 


THE    VAGABOND 

"I  gets  so  lonesome  I  feels  like  runnin1  myse'f. 
Dis  hyah  place  des  so  prim!  Sakes  alive!  I  gets  dat 
humsick  fo'  Virginny  I'd  like  to  hyah  ole  massa  say, 
'G'long,  yo'  niggahs!  Who  tol'  yo'  stick  yo'  brack 
faces  in  hyah  ?'  Miss  F'lissy  des  de  goodest  woman 
in  de  worl',  Lawd,  yes!  She's  too  good!  Yes, 
suh-h-h!" 

The  aspect  of  the  room  itself  gave  point  to  the 
maid's  words.  The  counterpane  was  too  sugges- 
tively stiff;  the  blue  and  white  china  too  blue  and  too 
white;  and  the  cat  marked  on  the  splasher  over  the 
wash-stand  too  rigid  and  watchful.  The  pressing 
sense  of  exact  and  angular  proportions  helped  the 
Vagabond  in  the  trying  ordeal  of  keeping  awake  until 
midnight. 

In  order  to  descend  from  the  roof  of  Miss  Felicia's 
porch  he  had  to  leap  from  it  upon  the  limb  of  a  tree, 
the  most  difficult  feat  in  gymnastics  of  this  sort  that 
he  had  yet  performed  in  his  struggle  for  liberty.  Yet 
he  was  quite  confident  that  it  was  nothing  for  a  moun- 
tain-climber in  the  bright  moonlight.  As  he  crept 
to  the  edge  of  the  roof  and  peeked  over,  who  should 
he  see  on  the  gravel-walk  at  this  hour  but  Miss  Felicia 
herself,  with  a  woollen  shawl  thrown  over  her  head 
and  shoulders.  He  drew  back  for  a  bad  minute. 
Peeking  over  again,  he  saw  that  she  had  not  seen 
him.  No  more  had  John,  the  coachman,  who  came 
leading  a  horse  and  covered  buggy  from  the  barn  at 
noiseless  pace;  no  more  had  the  Judge,  who  came 
walking  across  the  fields.  It  was  different  with 
the  keen,  savage  glance  of  his  hunted  black  com- 
panion. 

"Who  dat  ar — dat  ar  on  yo'  po'ch?"  he  asked. 
86 


THE  VAGABOND 

The  Judge  looked,  understood,  and  bade  the  negro 
be  quiet.  When  the  buggy,  Bingo's  pitiful  gratitude 
dying  on  the  night  air,  passed  on  down  the  road,  the 
Judge  whispered  something  to  Miss  Felicia  before 
he  called  out  in  his  great,  far-carrying  voice : 

"William,  do  you  prefer  a  roof  to  a  bed?" 

It  was  not  easy  to  take  the  Vagabond  unawares. 

"No,  sir,"  he  replied.  "I  was  going  to  run  away 
and  you've  caught  me." 

He  had  a  scheme  back  of  his  reply,  but  the  Judge 
checkmated  it. 

"Now,  William,"  he  said,  kindly,  "we  can  lock  you 
in.  If  that  isn't  enough,  one  of  us  can  wait  here  all 
night  to  break  your  fall  when  you  come  down.  Will- 
iam, I  want  you  to  promise  me  on  your  word  of  honor 
that  you  won't  run  away  to-night." 

"Yes,  sir;  I  give  my  word." 

And  so,  in  humiliation,  he  crept  back  to  bed. 

"I  am  afraid  that  is  a  much  bigger  task  than  the 
one  we  have  just  finished,"  said  Miss  Felicia,  delighted 
over  increased  opportunities  for  doing  good.  Had  the 
world  been  already  reformed  she  would  have  been 
rather  miserable. 

"Possibly  not.  I  like  his  spirit.  He  has  my 
father's  chin  and  a  good  forehead  besides.  I  think 
when  we  have  had  our  conference  I  shall  bring  him 
around."  The  foremost  orator  of  the  county  was 
bound  to  have  confidence  in  his  powers.  "He  has 
come  to  me  like  a  gift  from  Heaven.  I  mean  to  rear 
him  as  if  he  were  my  own,  and  in  my  later  years  to 
live  over  my  youth  in  him." 

"That  is  all  very  well,"  said  the  practical  woman. 
"What  he  most  needs  now,  John" — she  used  this  word 

87 


THE    VAGABOND 

only  when  she  wanted  to  gain  a  point  and  he  always 
thrilled  with  it — "is  a  woman's  care;  not  a  hired  wom- 
an's! And  a  hired  woman  is  the  best  you  can  pro- 
vide. You  must  let  him  remain  here  with  me  until 
he  is  old  enough  to  go  to  Andover." 

The  moonlight  played  on  Miss  Felicia's  face.  De- 
spite her  scorn  for  beauty  as  a  superfluity,  no  one 
could  deny  that  she  was  at  least  fine  looking.  Her 
earnest  words  added  to  her  charm,  under  whose  spell 
the  Judge  forgot  all  past  rebuffs;  forgot  even  the  boy, 
already  sound  asleep,  except  as  a  means  to  an  end.  As 
an  orator  he  must,  perforce,  approach  the  main  argu- 
ment with  an  exordium: 

"You  have  shown  the  way,"  he  said,  putting  one 
foot  a  little  in  front  of  the  other  and  thrusting  three 
fingers  between  the  top  buttons  of  his  waistcoat. 
"The  boy  does  need  the  soft,  directing  hand  and  the 
gentle  sympathy  of  a  mother;  he  does  need,  as,  well, 
the  firm  hand,  the  advice,  the  fellowship  of  a  father. 
The  one  is  as  much  the  corollary  of  the  other  as  the 
moon  and  the  sun,  the  night  and  the  day." 

"Which  is  the  day?"  asked  Miss  Felicia,  her  lips 
twitching  ever  so  little  with  amusement. 

But  the  Judge  was  used  to  interruptions  on  the 
stump. 

"The  mother!  She  is  the  summer;  the  father  the 
winter.  Without  the  one,  the  boy  will  be  all  night; 
without  the  other,  all  day.  Felicia,  a  young  life  has 
been  intrusted  to  us.  A  boy  of  overflowing  spirit,  who 
may  be  of  great  account  in  the  world,  must  receive 
the  stamp  of  a  character  worthy  of  his  promise.  Why 
should  we  be  merely  his  guardians?  Why " 

"It  is  getting  chilly.  Good-night,  John/'  remarked 
88 


THE    VAGABOND 

Felicia.  "We'll  see  how  the  boy  behaves  to-mor- 
row." 

"Yes,  quite  chilly,"  said  the  Judge  to  himself,  as 
he  walked  away;  "freezing,  in  fact.  I  wonder  if  there 
will  never  be  a  thaw.  My  God!  I  worship  that 
woman!" 

If  she  only  could  have  heard  this  heartfelt  outburst 
without  any  attempt  at  oratory! 


80 


BUT    MEETING    LOGIC    WITH    FAITH 

The  Judge  had  resolved  on  playing  a  great  part  the 
next  day.  He  appeared  early  at  the  Hope  house,  with 
the  serene  consciousness  that  he  had  his  exordium,  his 
argument,  his  peroration,  and  his  stage  effects  for  res- 
cuing the  Vagabond  from  his  fancies  well  in  hand. 

"Now  to  see  the  village  and  the  court,"  he  said, 
with  heavy  cheerfulness. 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  laconic  answer. 

So  the  uncle  took  the  nephew's  hand  in  his  and 
started  along  the  walk,  while  Miss  Felicia,  who 
watched  them  from  the  steps,  was  convinced  that  she 
knew  a  great  deal  better  than  John  how  to  deal  with 
that  boy.  From  the  road  they  could  see  through  the 
avenue  of  trees  to  the  main  street,  with  its  double  row 
of  frame  houses.  When  the  railroad  came,  Belmore 
told  itself  that  it  was  going  to  grow.  Finding  that  it 
did  not,  it  fell  back  into  its  old  way,  with  a  contempt 
for  any  other,  leaving  such  frivolities  as  progress  to 
Plaronville,  where  the  Judge  himself  would  have 
gone  but  for  his  election  to  the  bench  and  the  presence 
of  Miss  Felicia,  an  unalterable  Belmorean. 

"I  ran  away  from  the  same  old  farm  that  you  did 
when  I  was  twelve,"  the  Judge  began,  unctuously. 

"And  is  this  as  far  as  you  got?"  the  Vagabond 
asked. 

90 


THE  VAGABOND 

The  Judge  was  used  to  interruptions  in  his  argu- 
ment but  not  in  his  exordium,  and  he  frowned  and 
was  silent  long  enough  to  give  the  Vagabond  courage 
to  put  in  a  word  about  a  matter  that  was  most  oppres- 
sive. 

"I'd  just  as  soon  you  wouldn't  hold  my  hand  in 
that  way,"  he  said.  "I  can  walk  alone." 

"Oh!"  was  the  most  the  uncle  could  say. 

"Thank  you!"  replied  the  nephew,  heartily. 

Thus  one  of  the  Judge's  favorite  theories  of  prac- 
tice was  upset.  He  had  been  used  to  winning  votes 
for  his  party  by  putting  his  hand  on  the  head  of  the 
suffragist's  son  and  saying,  "Well,  my  little  man!" 
The  Vagabond  had  the  objection  to  being  handled  of 
most  boys,  born  for  the  open,  when  they  reach  the 
age  of  ten. 

In  anticipation,  the  Judge  had  enjoyed  the  effect 
of  entering  the  square  and  announcing  that  the  pre- 
possessing boy  whose  hand  he  held  was  his  nephew 
and  thenceforth  his  ward.  The  absence  of  contact  de- 
stroyed the  romance  of  such  a  proceeding.  Without 
stopping,  he  went  up  the  court-house  steps,  bowing 
in  reply  to  the  volley  of  "Mornin',  Jedge!"  that  greet- 
ed him  from  lawyers  and  jurymen  who  awaited  his  ar- 
rival. Throughout  the  hearing  of  a  line  fence  dis- 
pute the  Judge's  audience  was  Billy,  whom  he  had 
placed  in  a  commanding  seat.  When  he  made  a  point 
of  law  overruling  a  lawyer's  objections,  he  looked  at 
Billy  as  he  would  at  a  campaign  audience  for  applause. 
Afterward,  when  they  were  back  in  his  office  over  the 
leading  "general  store,"  and  had  eaten  a  luncheon 
brought  from  the  hotel  across  the  street,  the  uncle 
proceeded  again  to  his  exordium. 

91 


THE  VAGABOND 

"How  would  you  like  to  be  a  judge  and  sit  up  on 
the  bench  as  I  did  this  morning?"  he  asked. 

"If  you  please,  I  would  not  like  to  at  all.  I  would 
much  rather  climb  a  mountain,"  was  the  reply.  "All 
the  time  that  talk  was  going  on  I  was  listening  to  the 
birds." 

"All  that  talk!"  repeated  the  Judge.  In  the  whole 
of  his  career  he  had  never  met  a  controversialist  who 
so  naturally  and  buoyantly  and  indubitably  ran  away 
with  all  the  premises. 

"Yes,  sir.  I  can't  help  it.  All  that  talk  in  that 
stuffy  place  just  about  that  fence  and  a  wise,  big, 
learned  man  as  you  are  wasting  his  time  over  it  and 
the  lawyers  wasting  their  time  and  the  jury  wasting 
theirs,  when  there's  gold  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  and 
so  much  room  in  the  world!" 

The  Judge  concluded  that  the  only  thing  was  to  go 
on,  without  asking  questions  that  would  bring  inter- 
ruptions. He  was  eloquent  as  eloquence  went  in  those 
days.  He  described  his  own  struggles;  how  he  had 
worked  his  way  through  the  academy;  how  he  had 
read  law  on  two  hundred  a  year;  and  how  honors  had 
come  to  him.  Finally,  he  pointed  to  the  leather- 
backed  rows  on  the  four  walls  that  made  up  the  finest 
law  library  in  the  county  and  then  to  the  works  of  his- 
tory and  biography  in  his  bedroom  adjoining. 

"Everyone  is  a  living  being  to  me,"  he  said. 
"Here  at  my  hand  I  have  all  that  the  great  codifiers 
of  all  ages  have  given  to  the  world.  I  am  never  able 
to  quote  from  one  without  a  little  feeling  of  pride." 

"As  if  you  had  put  another  mile  behind  you,  and — 
and  the  mountain  was  a  little  Dearer,"  suggested 
Billy. 

92 


THE  VAGABOND 

"Yes,  and  I  am  not  a  day  older  without  being  a 
day  wiser.  That  is  the  beauty  of  it.  Knowledge  is 
like  a  crown  of  jewels  of  unending  increase,  the  love 
of  its  accumulation  giving  to  old  age  the  zest  of  youth. 
All  these  books  I  want  to  be  yours.  All  my  expe- 
rience I  want  to  be  yours.  You  shall  go  farther  than 
the  academy — to  the  university !  I  want  you  to  live 
with  me  and  be  my — my  son." 

But  what  authority  was  torts  on  gold  mines  or  on 
shinning  around  the  edge  of  a  precipice?  On  the 
background  of  bulky  volumes  in  a  room  unornamented 
except  for  steel  engravings  of  Thomas  Jefferson  and 
John  Marshall,  all  stiff  and  serene  and  dry  wrinkles, 
the  Judge  was  more  ominous  than  ever.  Billy  spoke 
with  the  feeling  of  a  boy  who  has  escaped  from  one 
library  to  fall  into  another. 

"I  know  you're  a  big,  very  big  man  and  a  very 
go-ood  man,"  he  said.  "And  Miss  Felicia  is  also 
very  go-ood.  But  I  don't  want  to  be  big  and  sit  on  a 
bench.  I  want  to  travel  and  travel  and  climb  a  moun- 
tain— and  I'll  run  away.  I  give  you  fair  warning, 
I'll  run  away." 

The  best  the  Judge  could  do  was  to  shake  his  head 
and  take  his  charge  back  to  Miss  Felicia.  There  he 
left  him  on  the  porch,  while  he  went  in  to  confer  with 
the  lady.  What  could  be  more  aggravating  to  a  boy 
than  to  know  that  he  was  the  subject  of  such  a  discus- 
sion? He  looked  out  at  the  road  and  wished  that 
night  with  its  chance  of  escape  was  already  at  hand. 
When  his  mentors  returned,  the  Judge  was  graver 
than  before  and  Miss  Felicia  determined  and  evident- 
ly inspired  by  a  new  responsibility.  What  their  deci- 
sion was  will  never  be  known,  for  at  that  minute  Cap- 

93 


THE  VAGABOND 

tain  Robert  Herrick,  U.  S.  A.,  and  Tim  Booker  en- 
tered the  gate. 

"Now  you  are  all  here!"  cried  the  Vagabond,  in 
tears  of  rage,  "all  except  Jim  Hawkins!  Why  didn't 
you  bring  him?" 

"Don't  say  that,  Billy!"  the  Captain  said,  so 
pathetically  that  Billy  instantly  regretted  his  out- 
burst. 

With  a  deep  bow  from  the  hips  in  recognition  of  a 
lady's  presence,  the  old  soldier  told  the  whole  story 
of  their  connection  with  the  boy,  Tim  standing  awk- 
wardly by. 

"We've  hunted  him  high  and  low,  sir,"  said  the 
Captain,  "and  there's  only  one  word  for  it — we  feel 
mean,  sir.  You  read  this  and  you'll  understand  my 
point,  sir." 

He  proffered  Billy's  farewell  letter.  When  the 
Judge  opened  it  the  drawings  fell  out  and  the  Cap- 
tain explained  them. 

"You  drew  these!"  the  Judge  exclaimed,  turning 
to  the  Vagabond,  who  brightened  instantly. 

"Yes,  sir.  I  like  that.  My  father  wouldn't  let  me 
draw.  But  when  I  get  away  where  the  mountain  is 
I'm  going  to  draw  all  I  want  to." 

The  Judge  read  the  letter  through  slowly.  He 
found  it  a  good  legal  document,  and  tapped  the  paper 
with  his  finger  when  he  came  to  the  sentence,  "I  don't 
see  what  claim  the  Judge  has  got  on  me;  he  never 
came  to  our  place  before  my  father  died."  He  was 
amazed  at  the  composition  for  a  ten-year-old  boy. 

"And  I  want  to  say  to  you,  sir,  for  myself  and  Mr. 
Booker,  that  we  want  that  boy;  and  if  you'll  give  him 

up  he  shall  go  with  us,  sir,  and " 

94 


THE  VAGABOND 

"To  California!  Out  among  savages  and  swearing 
miners  and  wild  animals !  Do  you  want  to  make  him 
a  heathen?"  gasped  Miss  Felicia,  springing  to  her 
feet. 

Captain  Herrick  also  rose  from  his  seat.  At 
that  moment  he  was  in  a  mood  to  have  kid- 
napped the  Vagabond.  His  indignation  only  made 
him  the  more  punctilious  in  bowing  from  the  hips. 

"Miss,"  he  said,  "no  boy's  morals  will  suffer 
in  the  company  of  an  officer  of  the  United  States 
army!" 

Miss  Felicia,  who  knew  nothing  so  well  as  the  dan- 
ger of  her  own  temper,  for  fear  that  she  would  say 
something  that  she  should  be  sorry  for,  dashed  into 
the  parlor,  where  she  began  nervously  dusting  furni- 
ture that  was  speckless.  The  Vagabond  slipped  down 
from  his  chair  and  went  to  the  Captain's  side  and 
looked  up  at  him,  his  lips  parting  and  his  blue  eyes 
radiating  his  affection.  His  uncle  observed  the  move- 
ment sadly. 

"Have  you  had  Latin?  Anything  besides  Eng- 
lish?" 

The  Vagabond  named  his  books  of  Caesar  and  Cic- 
ero as  if  they  were  so  many  demerits. 

"You're  ready  for  the  academy  now.  You  must 
have  learned  easily." 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  I  just  learned,  to  keep  peace. 
It  seems  to  me  I've  learned  enough  to  last  me  for- 
ever! I  want  some  time  for  the  things  I  like.  Can't 
you  see,  sir,  I  don't  like  what  you  do  ?"  he  pleaded. 

The  Judge  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  began  walk- 
ing up  and  down  the  length  of  the  porch,  his  head 
bowed  and  his  hands  behind  him.  In  puzzled  silence 

95 


THE    VAGABOND 

the  Captain  and  Tim  watched  his  pacing,  which 
he  ended  by  passing  into  the  drawing-room  to  Fe- 
licia. 

"I  have  decided  to  let  him  go,"  he  said.  "I  have 
no  right  to  keep  him." 

"Have  you  lost  your  mind,  John?  Eight!  Right! 
What  do  you  mean?"  she  cried. 

"I  mean  that  to  put  him  in  stays  may  ruin  him — • 
yes,  it  may  turn  his  energy  into  bad  channels." 

"You  shirk  your  duty.  Your  duty  is  to  discipline 
him,  to  rear  him  properly.  You  shirk,  John.  I  say 
it  to  your  face." 

"There  are  many  differences  of  opinions  and  tastes 
in  the  worjd."  Here  the  lawyer  was  completely  sub- 
merged, the  scholar  wholly  triumphant.  "Our  coun- 
try is  suffering  from  mistaken  efforts  at  discipline  at 
this  moment.  In  South  Carolina  they  think  that 
Massachusetts  people  are  property  stealers  and  witch- 
burners.  You  know  what  we  think  of  them.  Disci- 
pline! It's  forcing  people  to  do  what  you  want  them 
to  do.  I  would  not  have  allowed  my  father  to  prevent 
my  studying,  law,  and  this  boy  is  entitled  to  follow  his 
bent  as  much  as  I." 

He  was  almost  as  surprised  as  she  to  find  himself 
adamant  against  her  stormings  and  pleadings. 

"I  didn't  think  you  had  so  much  backbone!"  she 
cried  at  last,  almost  in  admiration,  and  ran  upstairs 
to  her  room  to — yes,  to  cry  in  vexation. 

The  Judge  returned  to  the  group,  which  was  still 
as  silent  as  culprits  in  court  awaiting  his  decision. 

"You  were  logical,"  he  said  to  Billy.  "When  I 
neglected  you  for  so  many  years  I  have  no  right  to 
your  affection  now0" 

96 


THE    VAGABOND 

Then  lie  turned  away  from  the  sight  of  his  nephew 
burying  his  face  against  Captain  Herrick's  neck  in 
the  first  faint  appreciation  of  his  heritage  of  happi- 
ness; for  the  Judge  had  grown  fond  of  that  freckle- 
faced  boy. 


97 


XI 

THAT    WINS    YOU    A    PASSAGE. 

"Have  you  any  money  to  invest?"  the  Captain 
asked  Tim  Booker,  soon  after  the  three  were  back  at 
the  Post. 

"I  guess  when  my  fare's  paid,"  said  Tim,  "the 
Natty  Nancy  won't  be  overloaded  with  my  savings  on 
sixteen  dollars  a  month." 

"Well,  sir,"  the  Captain  rejoined,  "just  you  risk  it 
along  with  what  I've  got  to  spare.  I'll  tell  you  how 
and  why,  sir.  To  be  explanatory,  sir,  and  to  make 
myself  clear  with  a  long  story  when  a  short  story 
won't  do,  I've  seen  two  thousand  men  in  hospital  in 
Mexico,  sir.  Yes,  sir,  when  the  volunteers — Ameri- 
can volunteers,  sir,  as  fine  timber  as  ever  grew  and  a 
little  finer,  without  any  intention  of  tunin'  up  the  old 
eagle — when  the  volunteers  went  to  Mexico  what'd 
they  do?  "When  they  saw  anything  good  to  eat  they 
et  it;  when  they  saw  anything  fit  to  drink  they  drank 
it;  and  when  they  got  sick  they  said  their  general  was 
no  good  and  wrote  straight  home  to  their  Congress- 
men to  have  him  dismissed.  One  of  my  men  came 
growlin'  to  me  at  Jalapa  and  says:  'That  comp'ny  of 
Ohioans  over  there's  eatin'  all  the  fruit  they  want  to.' 
'Are  they?'  says  I.  'You  go  ask  'em  how  many 
they've  got  on  their  sick-list.'  He  came  back  and  says: 
'Thirty  per  cent.'  'Very  good,'  says  I,  'we've  got  five 

08 


THE   VAGABOND 

per  cent.  We'll  draw  lots  for  the  other  twenty-five 
and  we'll  leave  'em  behind  right  off  to  fill  up  on 
orcottas  and  such,  and  we'll  know  just  where  we 
stand/ 

"Ninety  per  cent,  of  my  men,  barring  killed  and 
wounded,  stormed  the  heights  of  Chapultepec  and 
twenty  per  cent,  of  that  Ohio  regiment;  and  when  I 
seen  how  that  little  band  of  volunteers  handled  their 
bayonets,  as  unconcerned  as  if  they  was  soup  spoons, 
sir,  and  they  were  worried  lest  they  shouldn't  get  their 
share,  it  near  broke  my  heart  to  think  what  the  others 
was  missin'.  Yes,  sir,  I  learned  my  lesson  in  the  ranks 
and  didn't  forget  it,  either. 

"Well,  sir,  if  the  soldier's  a  baby,  what's  the  miner 
without  any  discipline?  Words  fail  me,  sir,  to  de- 
scribe his  infantile  follies,  on  the  one  hand,  or  his 
magnificent  possibilities  when  he's  properly  weaned 
and  brought  up,  en  the  other.  He'll  eat  what  he  sees ; 
he'll  lie  down  all  sweat  and  let  the  cold  wind  blow  on 
his  back  and  say  afterward  it  ain't  no  white  man's 
country.  And  what  will  he  cry  for  ?  Colic  medicine, 
sir,  colic  medicine ! 

"That's  the  first  thing.  And  the  second,  sir! 
What  is  it  an  American  most  craves  when  he  is  far 
away  from  home?  I've  seen  the  time,  sir,  when  a 
piece  for  every  man  would  have  restored  the  esprit  de 
corps  of  a  regiment.  Mother's  pies!  Mother's  apple- 
pies!  That's  what  they'll  cry  for  when  they're  well 
enough  not  to  want  the  medicine.  And  there  you 
have  the  combination  that  will  make  a  customer  of 
every  man  on  the  Pacific  coast — apple-pie  and  belly- 
ache medicine!  Do  you  agree,  sir?" 

"It's  a  good  thing  you  turned  soldier,"  said  Tim; 
99 


THE  VAGABOND 

"a  good  thing  for  John  Jacob  Astor.  "We'll  take  our 
mine  with  us.  But  you'll  have  to  post  me  up  on  the 
medicine.  About  the  only  colic  medicine  I  knew 
when  I  was  a  boy  was  to  roll  on  a  barrel.  That  helped 
a  lot,  especially  if  your  shirt  worked  up  under  your 
arms  and  there  was  plenty  of  slivers." 

"The  barrels  are  too  bulky  to  carry,  sir,  and  the  lit- 
tle bottles  won't  take  long  at  a  New  York  drug  store." 

Tim,  overjoyed  at  playing  a  part,  set  about  canvas- 
sing the  country-side  for  dried  apples,  and  the  Captain 
turned  to  the  final  preparations  for  the  departure  of 
his  company,  a  matter  easy  to  him  from  his  long  ex- 
perience in  army  transport,  and  of  never-failing  in- 
terest to  the  Vagabond,  who  was  initiated  into  the  art 
that  conceals  art  in  this  as  in  every  other  occupation. 

"You  do  know  one  thing  so  well,"  he  told  "Father 
Bob,"  as  he  now  called  the  Captain  by  the  Captain's 
request.  "It's  just  what  I  want  to  do.  I  want  to 
know  how  to  take  gold  out  of  mines.  That  will  be  my 
work.  For  fun  I  want  to  climb  mountains  and  draw 
pictures.  Oh,  Captain,  I'm  so  happy,  so  happy  1  In 
the  morning  I  rub  my  eyes  to  make  sure  I'm  not 
dreaming  it.  At  night  the  last  thing  I  think  is,  'I 
certainly  am  going  around  the  Horn  on  the  Natty 
Nancy,  Captain  Jabez  Goodrich.'  "  He  always  added 
the  skipper's  name,  which  seemed  an  essential  part 
of  the  rigmarole. 

When  the  three  partners  reached  New  York  and 
they  were  making  their  final  purchases,  his  consisted 
solely  of  a  book  on  mining  and  metallurgy  and  plenty 
of  paper  and  pencils.  His  thoughts  were  all  for  the 
ship  and  not  ashore.  Once  aboard  he  preferred  to 
stay0 

100 


THE  VAGABOND 

"It's  too  close  and  too  thick/'  he  said,  nodding 
toward  the  city.  "I'd  like  to  climb  the  Palisades, 
though,  if  I  wasn't  so  sure  that  I  would  see  much  big- 
ger precipices.  Now  I'm  on  the  ship  I'll  stick.  I 
can't  help  feeling  it's  almost  too  good  to  be  true. 
We're  really  going,  aren't  we?  Around  the  Horn  to 
the  Rocky  Mountains?" 

He  was  sure  he  had  never  seen  anything  so  clean  as 
the  Natty  Nancy.  He  told  Captain  Goodrich  so,  and 
then  and  there  the  Captain  became  his  friend. 

The  Captain  was  worthy  of  his  vessel.  For  forty- 
five  years  his  keen  eye  had  scanned  the  seas  of  the 
world.  In  the  story  of  his  life  you  might  read  that  of 
the  wooden-walled  marine,  which  was  the  glory  of  a 
nation's  youth,  already  approaching  its  decline. 
Time  had  not  made  his  temper  softer,  his  sight  duller 
to  spots  on  the  deck,  or  diminished  his  energy.  It  was 
more  interesting  to  sup  in  the  Captain's  cabin  as  his 
guest  than  at  a  hotel,  and  when  the  Vagabond 
crawled  into  the  little  bunk  that  was  to  be  his  for  the 
voyage  his  last  thoughts  were: 

"It  looks  as  if  it  really  was  not  too  good  to  be  true. 
If  anything  is  going  to  happen,  it  must  happen  before 
to-morrow  noon.  Oh,  I  wish  it  was  to-morrow  noon, 
now — then  I'd  be  certain!" 

Ten  was  the  hour  set  for  sailing,  and  by  eight  the 
soldiers  were  on  board,  the  last  of  the  cargo  was  se- 
cure, and  everything  waited  on  the  Captain,  who  was 
ashore  for  his  "papers"  and  a  last  word  with  the  own- 
ers in  dingy  offices  looking  out  on  the  field  of  masts 
which  they  sent  forth  to  fetch  and  take  the  products 
of  all  lands.  The  Vagabond  was  silent  and  trembling 
with  the  terrible  possibilities  that  his  imagination  sug- 

101 


THE   VAGABOND 

gested.  It  was  too  good,  too  good !  Something  would 
happen  at  the  last  moment!  He  watched  every  ap- 
proaching figure  on  the  pier  with  the  fear  that  it  might 
conceal  some  power  which  would  suddenly  turn  his 
happiness  into  grief.  So  he  was  the  first  to  see  the 
Judge,  whose  measured  walk  and  old-fashioned  garb 
he  recognized  instantly. 

"He's  changed  his  mind,"  he  thought.  'Tie's  not 
going  to  let  me  stay." 

His  first  impulse  was  to  hide;  his  next  to  fly  to 
Father  Bob,  who  was  forward  with  Tim.  But  he  un- 
derstood the  Captain's  principles  well  enough  to  know 
that  he  would  not  take  him  against  his  uncle's  will. 
So  he  met  the  Judge  at  the  gangway  defiantly,  full 
armed  with  his  rights  and  the  boyish  arguments  he 
proposed  to  use.  He  whistled  and  forced  his  lips 
apart  in  a  smile,  and  the  Judge  was  smiling,  too,  quite 
naturally. 

""Well,  Billy,  how  do  you  like  it  by  now?"  he 
asked. 

Billy !  The  Judge  had  always  called  him  William 
before — and  he  hated  "William. 

"I  love  it!"  he  replied.  "Have  you  come  to  take 
me  away?  'Cause  if  you  have " 

The  Judge  laughed  boisterously.  The  Vagabond 
had  not  known  him  to  laugh  aloud  before  and  his  sus- 
picions ran  higher. 

"Did  you  think  I'd  go  back  on  my  word  ?" 

"I  didn't  think.    I  was  just  scared  you  might." 

The  Judge  laughed  again,  but  not  so  heartily;  for 
underneath  his  amusement  he  was  asking  himself  why 
he  should  be  regarded  as  an  ogre. 

""Well,  you  needn't  worry  any  further  on  that 
102 


THE  VAGABOND 

score.  I  hope  you  do  not  mind  my  coming  to  say 
good-by  and  to  bring  you  this  parcel?  Felicia 
has  sent  you  a  Bible,  and  I've  added  a  little  sketch- 
book. I  thought  maybe  you'd  like  to  make  some  pic- 
tures of  people  you  see  and  send  them  back  to  me.  I 
believe  it  will  be  little  trouble  for  you  to  make 
them  and  they  will  give  me  a  great  deal  of  pleas- 
ure." 

The  element  of  constraint  in  the  Judge's  speech 
was  due  to  his  increased  conviction  that  he  was  the 
boy's  debtor  for  a  liberalizing  influence  as  the  result 
of  their  brief  association,  and,  moreover,  to  the  injus- 
tice he  had  done  him  by  never  once  having  offered  the 
olive  branch  to  his  dead  brother. 

"Thank  you,  sir.  I  will  fill  it  full  of  soldiers  and 
mountains  and  everything  I  see." 

"And  I  have  put  in  a  few  plays  of  Shakespeare. 
You  ought  to  like  Prince  Hal  and  'The  Tempest/  I 
should  say.  'Julius  Caesar'  is  my  favorite,  of  course. 
The  Bible  and  Shakespeare — they  are  a  liberal  edu- 
cation!" 

This  was  the  limit  of  the  Judge's  advice.  He  re- 
mained chatting  in  his  deliberate  way  until  it  was 
time  to  cast  off;  and  the  last  that  those  aboard,  as  the 
Natty  Nancy,  all  trim  and  taut  and  fresh  as  a  young 
housewife  going  to  market,  passed  out  into  the  river, 
saw  of  him  was  his  fluttering  handkerchief  waved  in 
farewell.  In  stately  ease  the  good  ship  rounded  Castle 
William,  which  alone  with  Castle  Garden,  Trinity 
and  St.  Paul's,  of  the  surroundings  of  New  York 
Bay  of  '49,  remain  the  same,  and  on  through  the  Nar- 
rows, where  she  spread  her  wings  for  her  long  sail. 
The  Vagabond  was  awed  and  silent  until  the  dim  line 

103 


THE    VAGABOND 

of  the  Highlands  melted  into  the  clouds.  Then  he 
seized  Tim's  hand  in  his  and  cried: 

"It  isn't  too  good!  It's  true!  It's  true!  Nothing 
can  stop  us  now,  can  there?" 

His  next  act  was  to  unpack  the  Judge's  parcel  and 
begin  work  on  that  sketch-book.  Before  he  was  a  week 
out  he  had  it  full,  all  except  two  leaves.  These  he  re- 
served for  the  letter  which  he  was  to  mail  at  Rio 
Janeiro — a  letter  which  was  a  great  credit  to  him, 
we'll  agree.  He  began  it  with  "Dear  Uncle"  instead 
of  "Dear  Judge": 

"I  did  not  like  you  a  bit  at  first.  Now  I  do  like  you 
a  lot  and  I  write  to  tell  you  so  just  as  soon  as  I  know  it 
myself.  You  tried  to  be  very  good  all  the  time,  but 
you  see  you  did  not  understand  how  to  be  good  to  me. 
I  am  such  a  queer  little  cuss,  as  Jim  Hawkins  said.  I 
am  afraid  I  was  dreadfully  sassy  to  you.  Honest,  I 
did  not  mean  to  be.  I  only  just  said  what  I  thought. 
I  can't  do  any  other  way,  so  please  forgive  me.  I 
mean,  you  did  not  understand  until  you  let  me  go. 
Oh,  I  cannot  find  any  words  big  enough  to  thank  you. 
I  thank  you  like  a  little  bird  would  when  you  let  him 
out  of  his  cage  to  fly  away.  His  keeper  may  be  a 
very,  very  good  man  and  feed  that  little  bird  very  well 
and  teach  him  tricks ;  but  that  little  bird  would  rather 
be  in  the  air  and  free  and  fly  as  high  as  it  wants  to  and 
get  its  own  worms,  which  would  be  all  the  sweeter, 
and  nestle  in  the  crotch  of  a  limb  when  it  rained, 
which  would  be  much  more  comfortable  than  any 
house. 

"I  hope  you  will  like  my  pictures.  There  are  a 
good  many  of  Barney,  the  boatswain.  Barney  has 

104 


THE  VAGABOND 

taught  me  how  to  splice  ropes.  He  has  been  on  ships 
all  his  life  and  has  been  on  a  whaler,  too.  I  don't  dare 
say  just  how  big  that  whale  was  that  broke  two  boats 
all  into  flinders  before  he  harpooned  him  in  the  Sea 
of  Okotsk,  because,  you  see,  the  length  of  the  whale 
is  never  the  same.  Not  that  Barney  means  anything 
untruthful,  only  his  estimate  is  different,  I  guess, 
every  time  he  tells  the  story.  Barney  has  a  big  red 
nose.  The  sailors  say  he  got  it  by  drinking  too  much 
grog.  Barney  says  he  got  it  by  hard  work  and  long 
hours  on  the  roaring  main.  There  is  no  doubt  but  he 
has  done  the  hard  work.  I  guess,  though,  if  he  hadn't 
done  it  he  would  have  that  red  nose  just  the 
eame.  When  I  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  Robin- 
son Crusoe  he  said  Robinson  was  a  landlubber  who 
did  not  know  the  first  thing  about  building  boats.  I 
told  him  the  story  of  'The  Tempest,'  and  he  said  he 
liked  the  old  man  in  it  because  he  was  such  a  growler, 
and  by  rights  he  ought  to  be  a  sailor.  When  I  asked 
Barney  if  he  was  not  a  good  deal  of  a  critic,  he  said 
of  course;  what  was  the  object  of  being  a  sailor  if  he 
was  not.  He  told  me  a  story  of  a  crew  once  that 
growled  so  much  their  captain  told  them  he  would 
sign  them  on  again  at  seventeen  dollars  a  month  and 
no  growl  or  fifteen  dollars  and  growl.  Barney  said 
they  told  the  old  pirate  that  he  could  never  bribe  an 
American  sailor  out  of  his  rights,  and  they  would  take 
the  fifteen  dollars  and  growl,  of  course.  I  guess  Bar- 
ney likes  to  show  off  before  a  boy  that  has  never  been 
to  sea  before.  I  am  willing. 

"I  think  that  if  there  were  no  mountain  ranges  I 
should  like  to  be  a  sailor.  The  sea  is  a  cradle  that 
rocks  you  to  sleep  at  night,  and  by  day  it  is  always 

105 


THE    VAGABOND 

moving.  When  I  say  that  to  Tim,  though,  he  just  looks 
at  me.  Tim  said  when  he  threw  up  his  boots  that  he 
thought  he  would  feel  better  if  he  could  throw  up  the 
keel  of  the  ship;  but  he  finds  that  he  does  not.  Father 
Bob  is  not  sea-sick  at  all.  It  makes  him  very  proud  to 
walk  up  and  down  before  his  men  with  his  dinner  sit- 
ting as  easy  on  his  stomach  as  the  cargo  in  the  hold. 
'If  I'd  been  sea-sick,  sir,'  he  said,  'I  would  never  have 
shown  myself  before  my  men.  I  would  have  stayed 
in  my  bunk,  sir.'  I  guess,  though,  that  the  soldiers 
were  so  sick  themselves  they  could  not  have  told 
whether  their  Captain  was  sick  or  not.  The  sailors 
laugh  at  the  soldiers  a  good  deal.  'Thought  you  was 
not  going  to  have  anything  to  do  except  eat  aboard, 
you  loafers!'  they  say;  'eating  is  about  enough, 
ain't  it?' 

"The  sailors  always  have  something  to  do.  When 
there  is  not  something  to  take  up  or  put  down,  there 
is  something  to  mend.  To  hear  them  growl  about  how 
hard  they  had  to  work  you  would  think  they  were  go- 
ing to  quit  there  and  then.  When  the  Captain  speaks, 
though,  they  fly.  At  first,  I  thought  the  Captain 
did  not  have  any  fun  in  him.  He  has,  only  it  is  all  un- 
derneath. I  asked  him  if  he  thought  that  Samson,  be- 
ing so  big  and  strong,  could  have  caught  those  foxes. 
'Didn't  the  whale  swallow  Jonah  ?'  he  said.  That  was 
no  answer  at  all,  I  thought.  Next  day  I  asked  him 
again.  'Didn't  the  whale  swallow  Jonah?'  he  said, 
and  dropped  his  eyelid. 

"We  have  had  all  kinds  of  weather.  One  day  we 
were  becalmed.  When  anybody  talked  on  board  it 
seemed  as  if  you  could  hear  him  clear  to  the  end  of 
the  world.  It  was  just  as  if  all  the  world  had  wilted. 

106 


THE  VAGABOND 

We  did  not  move  an  inch.  "Would  we  ever  move 
again?  You  could  look  and  look  at  the  sea  and  sky 
and  see  no  reason  why  we  should.  It  seemed  as  i±  we 
had  been  where  we  were  forever.  It  made  me  think 
of  the  rows  of  books  in  your  law-office.  Nobody  was 
happy  except  Tim.  He  said  he  liked  to  hear  me  talk 
about  its  being  calm  forever.  Then  a  little  breeze  be- 
gan to  puff  out  the  sails,  and  in  a  few  hours  the  ocean 
that  had  been  asleep  woke  up  and  laughed  with  little 
waves  and  everybody  was  happy — even  the  sailors, 
who  were  all  tired  out  growling  over  no  work.  The 
next  day  it  did  not  seem  possible  it  was  the  same  sea. 
We  had  a  storm,  a  real  storm  like  you  read  about.  I 
won't  try  to  describe  that.  It  was  as  if  the  sea  was  a 
great  angry  animal  and  was  trying  to  shake  off  our 
little  ship.  It  takes  a  storm  to  make  you  know  what 
a  great  man  Captain  Goodrich  is. 

"Tell  Miss  Felicia  that  I  read  her  Bible  hard.  I 
hope  she  didn't  think  me  ungrateful.  She  is  very, 
very  good.  It  would  make  her  happy  to  hear  Captain 
Herrick  read  the  Bible  on  Sunday  to  the  soldiers.  He 
reads  very  well.  He  says  he  is  no  preacher,  but  there 
is  the  book  and  he  has  the  power  of  speech,  and  there 
is  no  chaplain. 

"We  are  all  so  well  that  I  nearly  forgot  to  mention 
our  health.  I  am  so  well  I  would  not  mind  if  it 
stormed  all  the  time.  My  appetite!  Why,  it's  too 
big  for  my  stomach.  I  have  it  just  the  same,  no 
matter  how  full  I  am.  Father  Bob  says  that  next 
time  he  takes  a  ten-year-old  boy  far  he  is  going  to  bal- 
last him  so  there  will  not  be  quite  as  much  room  for 
food. 

"You  have  made  me  the  happiest  boy  in  the  world 
107 


THE    VAGABOND 

by  letting  me  go.    And  please  don't  call  me  William 
any  more. 

"Your  Loving  Nephew, 

"BILLY. 

"P.  S. — There  is  a  good  deal  more  about  Barney 
than  I  thought  there  was  when  I  come  to  read  this 
letter  through.  Only  I  thought  when  our  talks  were 
so  solemn  you  would  like  to  hear  about  Barney,  and  I 
think  Barney  a  good  man  and  also  funny.  Besides, 
there  is  nothing  sad  aboard  the  Natty  Nancy  except 
Tim,  and  I  do  wish  Tim  was  not  sea-sick." 

It  was,  indeed,  not  the  smooth  days  with  the  long 
swell,  but  the  rough  ones  that  were  the  Vagabond's 
delight.  Then  he  must  have  his  head  above  the  deck, 
matting  his  sandy  hair  with  salt  while  he  tossed  the 
mop  back  in  glee  as  the  spray  shot  over  the  deck. 
Once  when  the  angry  short  seas  slapped  the  Natty 
Nancy,  who  shuddered  with  the  blow  and  then  slapped 
them  back  defiantly,  he  was  missed  from  the  compan- 
ion-way just  after  a  green  ridge  had  swept  the  deck. 
Everyone,  even  the  sea-sick  Tim,  rushed  from  below. 
Barney  pressed  them  back  as  he  pointed  forward. 
There,  in  the  bow,  protected  by  the  rail,  lay  the  Vaga- 
bond, holding  fast  to  the  anchor.  After  the  wave  had 
broken  against  the  sturdy  Maine  oak  and  passed  on  in 
tumult  and  fury,  up  came  the  sandy  head  to  peep  over 
at  the  abyss  which  it  left,  while  the  ship  glided  down- 
ward softly,  as  if  judging  in  a  moment  of  calm  the 
might  of  another  approaching  monster.  Barney  went 
for  him,  but  had  to  return  with  orders  from  "your 
superior,  Captain  Herrick,"  before  his  request  was 
heeded. 

108 


THE  VAGABOND 

"Only  one  thing  could  be  finer,  and  that's  climbing 
a  mountain,"  said  the  Vagabond,  gayly.  "I  forgot 
there  was  any  ship.  It  was  just  myself.  I  was  meet- 
ing every  one  of  them  and  driving  them  back  and  wag- 
gling my  finger  for  the  others  to  come  on.  Oh,  it's 
much  better  than  amo,  amas,  amat,  or  tricking  po- 
licemen!" 


XII 

TO    THE    BAINBOw's    EKT> 

Captain  Goodrich's  face  a  down-Easter  smile 
above  his  salty  gray  whiskers,  not  a  case  of  sickness 
aboard,  not  a  spar  missing,  the  Natty  Nancy  dropped 
anchor  in  the  Golden  Gate,  one  hundred  and  sixty- 
three  days  out  from  New  York.  In  the  week  follow- 
ing their  arrival,  our  travellers  had  passed  the  length 
of  that  string  of  tents  and  shacks  that  had  been 
thrown  up  on  the  beach  in  a  nightmare  of  the  sleepy 
Spanish  priests,  who  half  expected  to  awaken  some 
morning  and  find  the  strange,  insanely  energetic 
beings,  with  piping  oaths  and  hurry  orders,  and  all 
their  structures  vanished  from  the  beach.  They  had 
seen  frowsy  men  toss  buckskin  bags  as  carelessly  upon 
unplaned  counters  as  if  the  contents  had  been  brown 
instead  of  gleaming  yellow ;  they  had  heard  the  talk 
of  dollars  to  the  pan  intermixed  with  the  fate  of  jack- 
pots and  sighs  for  home ;  they  had  poked  their  sniff- 
ing noses  into  the  odor  of  rank  tobacco  and  ranker 
perspiration  in  the  buildings  where  the  product  of 
great  luck  at  the  mines  was  exchanged  overnight  for 
a  headache. 

The  fulfilment  of  his  prophecy  was  more  gratify- 
ing than  his  share  of  the  profits  to  Father  Bob  when 
he  sold  the  dried  apples  and  the  colic  medicine  for  a 
sum  that  needed  no  exaggeration  to  seem  preposter- 
ous to  Eastern  credulity.  With  his  share  of  the  profits 

110 


THE  -VAGABOND 

expended  in  an  outfit,  Tim  set  off  on  a  prospecting 
tour,  whose  net  result  was  only  to  enrich  his  imagina- 
tion. The  Vagabond  was  a  vagabond  no  more.  He 
had  agreed  to  obey  the  Captain's  orders,  and  obey 
them  he  did  by  being  at  the  Post  and  thumbing  the 
book  on  mining  and  metallurgy,  which  he  already 
knew  by  heart,  and  seeking  knowledge  of  his  hobby 
in  every  possible  way.  He  was  not  unhappy,  and  yet 
he  was  not  quite  happy.  He  was  a  boy  keeping  an 
agreement  in  all  good  faith,  and  awaiting  the  prom- 
ised time  when  he  should  make  a  tour  with  Tim  as  a 
vacation,  and,  in  the  end,  when  he  was  seventeen  and 
of  age,  might  do  as  he  pleased.  The  Captain  often 
thought  of  letting  him  go  with  Tim  altogether,  but 
could  not  bring  himself  to  the  parting. 

Was  it  the  boy's  wistfulness  and  yet  philosophical 
composure  under  restraint?  Was  it  the  inactivity  of 
the  Post  while  the  greatest  of  dramas  was  being  en- 
acted in  the  field?  It  matters  little  for  our  purpose. 
It  is  only  essential  that,  within  a  year  after  their  ar- 
rival, a  board,  at  his  own  request,  retired  the  Captain 
from  the  army.  Therefore,  the  three  again  united, 
the  old  soldier  (an  expert  in  war,  a  baby  in  civil  af- 
fairs), the  exaggerative,  great-hearted  Tim,  and  a 
happy  boy  of  parts  set  forth  to  encounter  the  wind- 
mills in  the  .year  A.D.  1850.  But  the  Vagabond  was 
not  yet  to  climb  a  high  mountain  and  hunt  for  gold 
on  his  own  account.  He  must  be  content  to  look  at 
the  Sierras  in  the  distance  and  follow  the  creek  beds 
whose  windings  were  the  courses  of  the  placer  hunter's 
fortune. 

An  observing  miner  expressed  a  salient  truth  of  th© 
hour  when  he  said  that  the  ole  sojer  had  the  best  gol- 

111 


THE    VAGABOND 

darned  outfit  he'd  ever  seen,  but  that  didn't  mean  he'd 
have  any  better  luck  than  any  other  goldarned  galoot. 
Within  that  same  six  months  that  the  Captain  and 
Tim  climbed  over  divides  and  panned  creek  sands  to  a 
total  of  $121.32,  more  than  one  plain  "cuss,"  who 
had  started  without  a  week's  rations  in  sight,  pro- 
ceeded, with  a  swagger  and  bulging  pockets,  dropping 
wise  saws  by  the  way,  toward  'Frisco. 

Finally,  the  Captain  found  a  "lead"  in  a  creek  bot- 
tom. His  project  for  working  it  required  the  exten- 
sion of  his  partnership  to  include  twenty  men  who 
should  stake  twenty  claims  in  a  block,  and  the  .build- 
ing of  a  wing  dam  to  divert  the  current.  In  three 
months  the  dam  was  completed.  On  the  first  day 
they  took  out  a  thousand  dollars.  On  the  second  day 
it  broke,  and  the  men  swore  by  a  good  many  things 
at  their  luck,  and  then  swore  again  after  the  reaction 
from  their  despair  by  a  good  many  things  that  they 
would  rebuild  the  dam. 

The  close  of  every  day  put  a  notch  on  the  slender 
stick  of  each  worker's  patience  that  nearly  severed  it; 
still  they  kept  on  until  once  more  the  creek  bed  was 
a  strand  of  red  mud  at  their  feet.  It  yielded  a  few 
hundred  dollars  more  before  the  lead  stopped  as  sud- 
denly as  a  stable  footing  at  the  edge  of  a  precipice. 
They  ran  up  and  down  panning,  like  hounds  that  had 
lost  the  scent,  and  came  stock  still,  with  a  growl  of  an- 
ger, before  the  man  who  had  led  them  into  the  enter- 
prise. For  a  moment  it  looked  as  if  they  might  lay 
hands  on  him.  All  his  years  of  service,  all  his  success 
on  the  plains,  where  sheer  force  of  character  had 
brought  him  out  of  difficulties,  now  stood  him  in  stead. 
He  did  not  think  of  argument  and  explanation.  He 

112 


THE  VAGABOND 

met  their  anger  as  rigidly  as  he  would  a  charge.  He 
said  that  if  there  were  men  among  them  who  could 
take  their  medicine,  let  them  come  to  his  support.  If 
not,  he  preferred  to  face  the  "pack"  alone.  One  by 
one  they  stepped  to  his  side,  until  a  minority  went 
away  snarling. 

If  his  figure  was  as  rigid,  his  face  as  calm,  as  ever, 
in  his  heart,  for  the  first  time,  he  felt  the  contraction 
of  dismay.  His  last  dollar  was  gone.  He  began  to 
realize  the  folly  of  a  man  of  his  years  resigning  from 
the  army  in  order  to  gratify  a  boy's  whim. 

That  afternoon  Tim  took  Billy  up  on  the  hill-side 
above  the  cabins,  and  together  they  seated  themselves 
in  the  shade. 

"There's  no  worry  for  myself,"  Tim  said.  "When 
everybody  out  here  wants  to  make  a  fortune  for  him- 
self by  day  after  to-morrow  at  the  latest,  it's  easy 
enough  for  me  to  make  a  living  by  working  for  wages. 
But  that  grand  old  man!  It's  on  account  of  us  that 
he's  not  back  there  parading  his  company.  And  you, 
Billy!  This  isn't  any  place  for  you,  the  way  I  see 
things  now.  Why,  the  Judge  meant  to  send  you  to 
college!  Whatever  possessed  us  to  take  you  away  I 
don't  know;  your  smile,  I  guess.  Now,  Billy,  honest 
Injun,  don't  you  think  you  ought  to  go  back  and  get 
an  education?" 

"And  be  a  quitter?  And  never  find  my  mine?" 
Billy  gasped.  Then  he  smiled  and  tried  to  whistle,  as 
Tim  had  bidden  him  long  ago. 

"You  promised  the  Captain  to  obey  him,"  Tim 
managed  to  say,  in  face  of  that  smile  and  that  whistle. 

"Yes,"  Billy  admitted,  pulling  out  the  words  as  if 
they  were  aching  teeth,  "yes,  I  did." 

113 


THE  VAGABOND 

"And  there's  another  thing.  The  Judge  said  two 
years  out  here  wouldn't  put  you  back  much,  and  he 
gave  me  five  hundred  dollars  to  keep  in  secret  to  send 
you  home." 

"The  Judge  did  that!"  exclaimed  Billy  in  amaze- 
ment. "He  did  that  without  talking  about  it!  Oh, 
I'm  ashamed  of  myself  for  all  I  thought  about  him! 
But  I  couldn't  face  him  if  I  failed."  (And  the  girl 
— how  could  he  find  her?  What  excuse  could  he  make 
for  himself  to  her?)  "I'd  rather  tramp  with  a  pack 
and  skillet  forever  than  go  back  poor.  Oh,  I  can't,  I 
can't  go  till  I  climb  my  mountain  and  find  my  mine. 
That's  what  I  came  for,  and,  Tim,  I've — I've  thought 
I've  been  pretty  patient  waiting  on  you  grown  folks. 
Don't  advise  Father  Bob  to  send  me  back,  will  you?" 

Tim  turned  his  face  away  rather  than  look  into  the 
pleading  eyes  of  the  Vagabond. 

"I'll  think  it  over,"  he  said,  and  led  the  way  back 
to  the  cabin,  where  supper  was  waiting. 

The  Vagabond  watched  his  two  comrades  prepar- 
ing their  packs;  he  heard  them  lay  out  the  routes 
which  they  were  to  take  to-morrow,  going  as  far  as 
their  rations  would  carry  them;  he  received  their  or- 
ders about  keeping  house  meekly  enough  to  have  ex- 
cited suspicion ;  he  wrapped  himself  in  his  blanket  for 
the  night  when  they  did.  When  heavy  breathing  told 
him  that  they  were  well  settled  in  slumber,  he  noise- 
lessly slipped  into  his  boots,  breeches,  and  jacket. 
Outside  in  the  moonlight  he  scribbled  a  note  begging 
Tim's  pardon  for  taking  his  pack,  expressing  his  sense 
of  responsibility  for  their  plight  and  his  confidence 
that  he  could  find  gold,  and  praying  them  not  to 
worry,  as  he  would  return  safe  and  sound. 


THE  VAGABOND 

As  young  and  old  guardians  read  these  words,  they 
looked  into  each  other's  eyes  and  understood.  The 
highest  mountain  in  sight,  whose  peak  was  cloaked  in 
snow,  he  had  called  his  own  and  named  The  Topper. 
In  his  moments  of  day-dreaming  they  had  heard  him 
say,  "There's  gold  in  The  Topper,  I'm  sure.  I'll 
climb  up  and  find  it  some  day."  They  thought  that, 
with  only  a  boy's  glimmer  of  the  difficulties,  he  would 
start  to  ascend  it  and  keep  on  with  inborn  stubborn- 
ness until  his  food  was  gone  and  return  was  impos- 
sible. Breakfastless,  they  started  in  pursuit  by  dif- 
ferent routes.  Everyone  in  the  camp  joined,  until 
darkness  sent  them  back  without  news.  A  week  and 
more  had  passed,  when  Tim  Booker,  hatless,  coatless, 
packless,  came  down  the  mountain-side. 

"Where  is  he?"  he  cried.  "Is  he  all  right ?  My  boy 
Billy,  is  he  all  right?  I  was  dying  up  there  and  some- 
body whispered  to  me  that  he  was." 

One  man  of  the  group,  known  as  Missoury  Dan, 
Tim's  sole  rival  in  the  gentle  art,  was  never  taken  un- 
awares. 

"Yaas,"  he  drawled.  "Ben  here  two  days.  Stum- 
bled into  Pete  Rooney's  cabin  over  thar,  clean  done 
up." 

"Thank  God!     I'll " 

"Now,  wait  a  minit,  Tim.  We  didn't  move  him. 
Doctor's  jest  come  up  from  Bubble  Canyon.  Says 
our  hoss  sense  saved  his  life.  He's  jest  'twixt  an* 
'tween  with  fever.  Any  excitement'd  kill  him.  As 
fer  you — why,  at  the  sight  of  his  old  friend  Tim 
Booker  there'd  be  a  sob  an'  'twould  all  be  over." 

So  they  put  Tim  to  bed  in  his  own  cabin,  where  he 
sank  into  the  sleep  of  exhaustion;  and  a  miner  who 

115 


THE  VAGABOND 

had  the  last  drop  o'  the  cratur  remaining  in  camp 
shared  it  with  Missoury  Dan,  while  the  others  present 
smacked  their  lips  with  such  a  whip  to  the  imagina- 
tion that  they  almost  tasted  the  reality  denied  them. 

After  thirty-six  hours  Tim  awakened  with  the 
start  of  one  who  has  overslept  an  appointment. 

"He  said  he'd  be  back  in  ten  days!  This  is  the 
tenth!"  he  said. 

"Got  back  in  eight,  Tim.  He's  over  in  Pete  Koo- 
ney's  cabin,"  Missoury  Dan  explained. 

"I  remember!"  Tim  rose  to  the  edge  of  the  bed. 
"So  you  said.  I'll  go  and  see  him." 

"Sorry,  Tim.  There's  ben  a  tur'ble  storm  up  in  the 
mount'ns.  Nuff  snow's  fell  on  the  Sierrys  to  bury  a 
whole  lot  of  them  little  European  nations.  It's  set 
the  boy  back  a  leetle.  He'll  get  well,  all  right,  'less 
he's  excited  by  seeing  some  near  an'  dear  friend.  The 
thing  fer  you  to  do,  Tim,  is  to  lay  down  agin  an'  rest 
easy,  whilst  we  rustle  some  broth  so  you'll  be  well's 
soon's  Billy  is." 

Tim  smiled  as  the  Vagabond  had  seen  him  smile  in 
the  corn-row  when  he  lighted  his  pipe  and  contem- 
plated the  world  with  charitable  cynicism. 

"You're  foolin'  me!"  he  cried,  suddenly. 

Dodging  here,  striking  there,  he  ran  to  Pete 
Rooney's  cabin.  The  door  was  open;  no  one  was 
inside. 

He  turned  toward  the  still,  magnificent  heights  in 
their  aprons  of  snow,  now  gleaming  under  the  sun  of  a 
day  always  seeming  fairer  (because  it  follows  a  storm) 
than  its  followers,  which  may  be  equally  fair.  He 
cast  a  glance  at  the  men,  who  were  watching  to  see 
what  effect  the  truth  would  have  upon  him,  and  with 

116 


THE   VAGABOND 

weak,  uncertain  footsteps  and  flashing  eye  started  up 
the  hill-side. 

"Quick,  now,  another  good  man  an'  some  grub!" 
cried  Missoury  Dan.  "He'll  tire  out  perty  soon;  then 
we'll  bring  him  back.  Gawd!  The  old  man  an'  the 
boy  are  froze  stiff  up  thar  long  ago,  an*  our  duty's  to 
the  living." 


117 


xin 

WHICH     IS     PLACER,     NOT     QUABTZ 

The  Captain  and  Tim  did  not  understand  any  bet- 
ter than  most  grown  people  where  a  boy's  belief  ends 
and  his  fancy  begins.  Youthful  discretion  and  reck- 
lessness go  hand  in  hand,  else  many  more  masculine 
necks  would  be  broken  before  their  time.  However 
much  the  Vagabond  wanted  to  reach  the  summit  of 
The  Topper,  he  dismissed  it  as  entirely  secondary  to 
the  need  of  funds.  In  practice,  he  had  not  the  slight- 
est idea  of  wading  in  the  snow  that  separated  the  dirt 
from  easy  panning.  Where  the  white  blanket  met 
the  red  of  turf  and  the  green  of  trees  and  the  gray  of 
rock — this  was  his  path. 

From  dawn  till  darkness  overtook  him  he  travelled, 
and  then  he  built  a  fire,  and  lying  close  to  it  slept  till 
the  cold  awakened  him,  when  he  rebuilt  it  and  began 
cooking  his  breakfast.  He  was  infinitely  happy,  hap- 
pier even  than  he  had  imagined  he  would  be,  the 
bounding  zest  of  adventure  forbidding  fatigue,  while 
at  every  favorable  place  he  panned  for  colors.  He 
was  surprised  to  find  how  far  away  The  Topper  was, 
and  how  short  a  distance,  on  account  of  obstacles,  he 
made  each  day;  and  yet  he  took  this  as  a  part  of  the 
game,  as  the  price  of  freedom.  On  the  seventh  day, 
just  after  he  had  thrown  his  pack  across  a  torrent  and 

118 


THE  VAGABOND 

was  about  to  leap  over  it  himself,  a  yellow  pebble  in 
the  bank  of  the  gorge  attracted  him  with  the  sudden- 
ness of  a  flash  of  light  at  night.  A  bound  carried  him 
to  the  other  side.  He  looked  again.  The  speck  still 
gleamed  yellow  from  the  new  point  of  view,  answering 
to  the  prospector's  test  for  gold,  and  a  minute  later  he 
knew  that  he  had  found  a  "pocket,"  which  is  every 
placer  miner's  ambition. 

Before  man  came  upon  the  earth  to  force  the  ani- 
mals to  give  him  room;  before  the  Pyramids  were 
built ;  while  the  men  of  nations  long  dead  lobbied  and 
traded  and  rose  early  and  gave  false  witness  for  a  lit- 
tle gain;  under  countless  generations  of  rulers,  The 
Topper,  in  the  superb  hazard  of  nature,  had  nestled 
in  its  lap  this  present  for  a  boy  who,  whatever  his 
faults,  was  not  a  "quitter."  Yet  in  the  California  of 
that  day,  when  a  prospector  who  had  sought  year  in 
and  year  out  for  treasure  in  vain,  uncovered  a  fortune 
by  kicking  up  the  turf  in  a  wayside  argument,  the 
fact  was  in  nowise  remarkable. 

The  Vagabond  looked  up  at  the  white  peak  of  The 
Topper  and  then  down  at  the  valley  stretching  away 
in  tree-studded  greens  and  browns  toward  the  Pacific. 
He  felt  the  joy  and  the  power  of  being  alone  with  his 
treasure  where  no  human  being  had  ever  trod  before. 
In  a  grove  well  down  toward  the  plain  was  the  spot 
where  the  girl  should  be  waiting  for  him  with  her 
apron  ready  to  receive  the  nuggets.  All  in  play,  he 
had  a  mind  to  imagine  her  actually  there  and  to  make 
the  journey  to  her  bower. 

But  he  had  not  yet  climbed  the  mountain  which 
was  down  in  his  calendar  as  preceding  the  discovery 
of  his  mine.  And  his  mine  was  only  placer.  It  was 

119 


THE  VAGABOND 

quartz  that  he  wanted;  quartz  that  required  the 
knowledge  in  his  mining  and  metallurgy  book.  All 
that  he  had  found  was  the  funds  to  tide  his  friends 
over  their  emergency.  It  occurred  to  him  that  his 
"pocket"  would  do  them  no  good  or  him  either  unless 
he  reached  them  with  the  news.  The  butterfly  capt- 
ured, how  far  was  the  hunter  from  home?  He  went 
back  to  examine  his  pack,  as  if  he  did  not  know  al- 
ready the  state  of  his  larder.  At  sight  of  that  hand- 
ful of  beans  and  a  thin  strip  of  bacon  he  had  a  spasm 
of  demoralization.  He  found  himself  crying  out*  to 
Tim  and  the  Captain  in  terror.  The  rocks  echoed 
back  his  words,  and  seemed  to  add  the  refrain,  "What 
is  the  use  of  gold  to  a  starving  boy?"  Then  he  threw 
back  his  head,  the  blue  of  his  eyes  became  as  calm  as 
the  blue  of  the  sky;  he  smiled  and  whistled. 

"It's  a  good  thing  I  found  it  as  soon  as  I  did,"  he 
thought,  "or  I'd  kept  right  on  going,  maybe.  Per- 
haps there's  some  place  nearer  than  our  camp." 

He  leapt  up  with  the  hope  of  his  words.  Climbing 
to  the  highest  point,  a  point  whence  you  may  ride  in 
a  parlor  car  to  San  Francisco  in  a  few  hours  to-day, 
with  an  unobstructed  view  he  strained  his  vision  for 
the  sight  of  some  human  habitation.  Not  so  much 
as  a  curl  of  smoke  rose  on  the  clear,  still  air. 

"The  only  sure  way  is  the  way  I  came,"  he  said.  "I 
know  that,"  he  added,  confidently,  as  if  he  were  long 
skilled  in  woodcraft.  "I've  two  meals  and  it  took 
seven  days  to  come."  His  effort  to  whistle  was  atten- 
uated, but  successful  enough  to  make  him  feel  bet- 
ter. "I  haven't  much  to  carry  and  I  won't  stop  to 
prospect.  I  ought  to  make  it  back  in  three  days. 
I  can,  and  there's  a  full  moon — a  full  moon!"  He 

120 


THE  VAGABOND 

whistled  evenly  and  determinedly  as  lie  began  to  re- 
trace his  steps. 

Though  he  told  himself  that  he  was  certain  of  his 
route,  at  times  he  palpitated  with  fear  that  he  was  not. 
The  next  morning  he  stopped  long  enough  to  cook  his 
provender,  of  which  he  ate  a  carefully  separated  half; 
the  rest  he  was  to  eat  cold  on  the  way.  Feeling  not 
only  the  pangs  of  hunger  but  also  that  uncertainty  of 
physical  movement  which  a  dizzy  brain  increases,  he 
decided  that  he  must  keep  his  legs  going,  going,  going; 
for  if  he  once  allowed  them  to  stop  they  would  never 
start  again.  If  he  stumbled  and  fell,  he  rubbed  his 
eyes  instead  of  his  shins  and  tried  to  whistle.  On  the 
night  of  the  third  day  he  was  still  scrambling  on.  In 
three  or  four  hours  he  knew,  or  thought  he  knew,  by 
the  landmarks,  that  he  would  be  in  the  cabin,  and  the 
roaring  in  his  head,  he  told  himself,  was  only  a  joyful 
humming. 

Nature  stepped  in  between  him  and  his  goal.  A 
stillness  broken  by  no  quivering  leaf  brought  the  heav- 
ens in  silence  pressing  toward  the  earth.  The  crackle 
of  twigs,  the  scraping  of  his  soles  on  the  rocks, 
seemed  to  come  from  the  footsteps  of  some  distant 
person.  Growing  dimmer,  gradually  the  stars  were 
blotted  out.  A  blinding  swirl  brought  a  white,  dense 
night  as  the  warning  of  the  approach  of  human  pbwer- 
lessness.  The  heavens  opened,  with  the  wind  in  havoc, 
to  fling  their  downpour  in  a  carpet  far  below  the  old 
line  where  melting  snow  met  turf.  The  shimmering 
of  light  through  driven  flakes  showed  the  Vagabond 
an  opening  under  a  great  mass  of  stone  where  no  gust 
had  yet  penetrated.  This  rock  in  its  cold  blue  and 
gray  tints  was  as  radiant  of  welcome  as  ever  was  a 

121 


THE  VAGABOND 

shaded  bench  of  an  inn  garden  to  a  dusty  traveller. 
As  he  launched  toward  it,  wet  and  blinded,  wallowing 
to  his  hips,  he  became  conscious  of  another  presence 
in  this  area  of  despair.  He  saw  it  stumble  and  fall, 
and  plunged  to  its  side. 

"Come,  Father  Bob!  Come,  Captain,  Captain!" 
he  begged. 

A  flush  of  strength  came  back  to  the  old  man; 
enough,  with  the  boy's  help,  to  bring  them  to  that 
succoring  black  hole.  There,  in  the  forced  twilight, 
while  the  storm  was  sweeping  by  as  harmlessly  as  the 
swashing  waves  past  a  steamer's  closed  port-holes,  the 
Vagabond  unloosened  the  belt  of  his  beloved  leader, 
threw  his  own  coat  over  him,  and  rubbed  his  hands 
and  pounded  his  legs.  Then  he  saw  that  on  some 
other  occasion  when  the  wind  had  been  in  the  oppo- 
site direction  it  had  blown  leaves  and  twigs  into  the 
cave.  As  hastily  as  he  could  make  it,  he  had  a  fire 
going. 

"I  was  coming  back  on  the  other  side  of  the  divide," 
the  Captain  whispered,  "and  I  was  crossing  over  about 
opposite  our  camp.  At  any  rate,  I  thought  I  was—- 
yes, I  thought  I  was.  Yes,  Captain  Robert  Herrick, 
U.  S.  A.,  you  have  lost  your  way.  Yes,  they  may  say 
I  have  lost  my  way,  but  no  man  can  say  that  I'm 
afraid.  I  never  did  want  to  die  propped  up  on  pil- 
lows with  a  pile  of  medicine  bottles  at  my  elbow  and 
folks  looking  on  to  hear  the  curtain  rung  down  with 
the  death-rattle.  I — you  vagabond,  you,  with  your 
freckled  face  and  your  head  in  the  air,  when  it  clears 
you  make  west  for  the  edge  of  the  snow,  and  keep  go- 
ing till  you  strike  a  creek  bed  and  follow  it  down 
stream.  Don't  be  afraid  to  drink  water.'  That  wil] 

122 


THE   VAGABOND 

keep  you  awake  and  stop  the  faintness  if  it  does  make 
you  sick  afterward — and  you  follow  the  stream  and 
you're  bound  to  find  human  beings." 

"We  aren't  lost!  We  aren't!  I  know  we  aren't!" 
the  Vagabond  cried,  and  he  shook  the  Captain  with 
all  his  might.  "You  remember  that  big  pine  that 
stands  all  alone — the  one  the  landslide  didn't  get  and 
with  the  finger  pointing  toward  The  Topper?  Well, 
I  saw  that  just  before  it  got  so  dark  I  couldn't  see 
anything." 

The  shaking  and  the  fire  began  to  bring  the  blood 
back  into  the  Captain's  limbs. 

"You  did,  sir,"  he  said,  "and  you're  punching  me 
up !  Why,  I'm  the  quitter !  Yes,  sir,  I'm  the  quitter 
now,  and — why,  you've  built  a  fire !  Why,  we're  just 
as  cosey  here  as  bugs  in  a  rug.  We'll  eat  snow  and  im- 
agine it's  the  whites  of  eggs,  and  we'll  chew  a  twig 
and  that'll  be  our  bacon,  sir." 

"Oh,  Father  Bob!"  was  all  the  Vagabond  could  say 
at  first,  so  full  was  he  at  the  sight  of  his  leader  re- 
turning to  his  militant  self.  "That  isn't  all,"  he  add- 
ed. "You  needn't  worry  now.  See  what  I've  found!" 
He  drew  the  nuggets  from  his  pocket. 

The  Captain  fondled  them,  his  eyesight  growing 
better  in  the  warmth  of  their  glow. 

"A  child  shall  lead  them!"  he  whispered,  and  soon 
fell  asleep. 

The  Vagabond  drew  himself  away  from  the  sopo- 
rific warmth  and  looked  out  at  the  storm  away 
from  the  hypnotic  flame,  which  he  fed  with  eyes 
averted.  He  thought  that  the  fire  should  be  kept  go- 
ing for  the  Captain's  sake;  he  feared,  for  reasons  less 
manifest  than  instinctive,  to  allow  himself  to  go  to 

123 


THE  VAGABOND 

sleep.  Now  a  million  claws  seemed  pulling  at  his 
stomach,  and  then  a  wave  of  nausea  would  sweep  over 
him.  He  crawled  to  the  gate-way  of  snow  forming 
across  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  After  he  had  eaten  a 
handful  and  put  a  handful  on  the  back  of  his  neck, 
which  he  found  reviving,  a  shadow  fluttered  out  of  the 
flaky  screen  and  there  landed  at  his  feet  a  broken- 
winged  partridge.  He  seized  the  ball  of  damp  feath- 
ers and  held  it  tight.  Here  was  food  come  out  of  the 
heavens.  Father  Bob  should  have  broth  and  meat 
when  he  awoke.  Then  he  felt  the  beating  of  the 
frightened  bird's  heart  against  his  own. 

"You  came  in  here  to  save  your  life,  too,  didn't 
you?"  he  said.  All  the  sympathy  he  had  for  the  hunt- 
ed welled  up  in  his  throat.  "You've  made  a  hard 
fight,  too,  just  as  hard  as  we  have.  I  wish  you  hadn't 
that  broken  wing.  I — I  can't!"  By  shouts  and  shak- 
ings he  awakened  the  Captain.  "There's  a  meal, 
Father  Bob,  if — if  you  can  kill  it."  He  turned  away 
and  heard  the  death-flaps  of  the  bird  with  a  shudder. 

When  the  storm  cleared  the  morning  after,  they 
were  the  stronger  for  the  sustenance. 

"Now,  sir,  once  we're  out  of  this  we'll  follow  a 
creek  bed.  That's  the  safe  way,"  said  the  Captain, 
who  had  little  confidence  in  the  Vagabond's  sense  of 
their  position. 

When  at  last  they  had  clambered  nearly  to  the  edge 
of  the  snow  line,  the  Vagabond,  his  face  suffused  with 
the  pleasure  of  surprising  the  Captain  with  the  ease 
of  their  task,  now  pointed  to  the  giant  tree  which  had 
been  one  of  the  landmarks  of  their  surroundings  since 
they  began  building  the  dam.  A  few  minutes  later, 
on  the  hill-side  overlooking  the  camp,  they  met  tho 

124 


THE   VAGABOND 

hatless,  coatless,  wild-eyed  Tim  Booker.  As  he 
looked  at  his  haggard  friends,  Billy  realized  the  meas- 
ure of  his  responsibility  for  the  hardships  they  had 
endured. 

"I  didn't  think  you'd  follow.  I  said  I'd  return  all 
right.  Oh,  I'll  pay  you  back  for  all  this.  It's  better 
than  any  mine  to  have  two  such  partners.  Oh,  I'm 
so  glad,  even  if  it  isn't  quartz,  that  there  is  enough 
so  you  won't  have  to  worry  while  you  rest  and  get 
well!" 


125 


PART  II 

XIY 

ENTER    JIMMY    POOL 

/ 

In  January  of  1861  two  of  the  passengers  on  a 
steamer  due  to  depart  from  San  Francisco  for  the 
Isthmus  in  half  an  hour  were  becoming  anxious  be- 
cause the  third  member  of  their  party  had  not  yet 
appeared.  Repeating  assurances  to  each  other,  they 
nevertheless  strained  their  eyes  at  the  last  tug  ap- 
proaching from  shore,  as  earnestly  as  if  faces  were 
actually  recognizable  a  thousand  yards  away. 

The  tufts  of  hair  in  front  of  Captain  Herrick's 
ears  were  pure  white  now.  Otherwise,  ten  years  had 
scarcely  changed  him.  He  was  as  erect  as  ever.  His 
flesh  had  nothing  of  the  tinge  of  old  age ;  the  same 
bronze  skin  tightly  drawn  over  his  high  cheek-bones 
numbered  a  few  more  wrinkles  which  had  been 
formed  under  influences  softer  than  those  of  the  drill- 
ground,  and  his  eyes  shone  out  of  their  criss-crossed 
citadel  with  more  than  keenness  and  good-humor — 
with  the  happiness  and  prosperity  due  to  his  invest- 
ment in  a  runaway  boy. 

Tim  Booker  had  thickened  until  his  great  height 
was  more  like  a  pillar  than  a  pole.  A  long  beard 
of  straw-bleached  color  added  to  the  effect  of  primi- 

127 


THE    VAGABOND 

tive  strength.  It  seemed  as  if  the  titanic  hand  which 
grasped  the  rail  was  larger ;  certainly  it  was  stronger 
and  accordingly  more  dangerous  to  an  adversary,  as 
two  or  three  could  testify.  Even  as  his  strength  had 
grown,  thanks  to  his  vocation,  so  his  imagination  had 
grown,  thanks  to  his  associations.  While  he  was  still 
the  incarnation  of  truth  when  his  eye  twinkled,  un- 
der the  favoring  conditions  of  the  California  of 
that  day  he  had  practised  his  precept  that  it  was 
stingy  to  pass  a  camp  lie  along  without  improving 
it,  until  experience  had  made  him  a  past  master 
of  the  art  of  harmless  fiction.  Between  the  two  there 
was  the  irrevocable  bond  of  friendship  often  made 
by  parts  that  find  their  wanting  qualities  in  each 
other. 

"A  thousand  oceans  wouldn't  keep  him,"  said  Tim. 
"He's  found  some  other  cripple  or  widow  that  he's 
going  to  take  back.  He's  there  on  the  tug,  all 
right." 

So  he  was,  but  his  companion  was  not  of  either  type 
that  Tim  had  mentioned.  The  young  man  who  pre- 
ceded the  Vagabond  up  the  gangway  was  lean  and 
wabbly  as  a  porpoise-hide  shoe-string,  and  time  was 
to  prove  that  he  was  as  enduring. 

"Now,  no  jinks!  You're  going  with  us  and  there's 
an  end  of  it,  Jimmy  Pool,"  said  the  Vagabond,  when 
they  set  foot  on  deck. 

Jimmy  dropped  languidly  against  the  rail. 

"I  suppose  I  might  as  well  stay  now  that  we've  got 
as  far  as  we  have,"  he  drawled  in  reply;  and  the 
Vagabond  made  haste  to  the  purser's  side. 

"You've  got  me  down  for  ten  tickets ;  Mrs.  Dow- 
ling,  Tom  Smith" — he  read  off  from  a  card  the 

128 


THE  VAGABOND 

names  of  those  that  his  bounty  was  sending  back  to 
their  relatives  in  the  East.  "And  now  I  want  still 
another." 

When  the  purser  stated  unequivocally  that  he  had 
not  a  berth  left,  the  Vagabond  rejoined : 

"Who  wants  a  berth?  Passage,  that's  all.  Who 
wants  a  stuffy  berth  on  the  Pacific  when  he  can  sleep 
on  deck  under  the  stars  ?" 

The  ticket  bought,  he  brought  the  languid  figure 
away  from  the  rail  to  introduce  him  to  Father  Bob 
and  Tim. 

"This  is  Jimmy  Pool,"  he  began;  then  stopped, 
for  Jimmy  had  put  his  heels  together  and,  every  fibre 
in  his  body  stiffening,  was  an  automaton,  saluting 
his  former  officer. 

"So  you  had  the  gold  fever,  too,  Pool,"  said  the 
Captain. 

"Yes,  sir.  That  reminds  me,"  Jimmy  drawled, 
"that  we're  both  plain  'cits'  now."  Whereupon, 
Jimmy  melted  back  into  ennui  and  leaned  against 
the  nearest  stable  object. 

"He  was  a  good  soldier,  I'll  warrant,"  the  Vaga- 
bond added,  to  the  Captain. 

"As  good  as  they  make,  sir." 

"I  knew  it,  though  I've  known  Jimmy  only  two 
hours.  The  first  thing  I  heard  of  him  did  him  credit 
enough.  He  and  his  partner  Tompkins  had  got  to- 
gether a  good  bag  of  dust  apiece  and  were  going  home. 
Tompkins  was  returning  to  marry  his  sweetheart  and 
bring  her  back  to  the  coast ;  Jimmy  was  returning  to 
see  his  old  mother.  Tompkins  when  he  reached 
'Frisco  thought  he  hadn't  quite  enough.  So  he  put 
a  few  checks  on  roulette  in  the  hope  of  getting  more 

129 


THE  VAGABOND 

and  kept  on  doing  this  until  he  hadn't  a  cent  left. 
Then  Jimmy  gave  Tompkins  his  share  and  saw  him 
aboard  ship. 

"Now  for  the  second — that  was  when  I  saw 
Jimmy  first.  He  was  leaning  against  something  or 
other — except  he's  doing  something  great,  Jimmy  al- 
ways is,  as  you  can  see  for  yourself — when  a  worthy 
named  Wilks,  one  of  the  worst  of  his  breed  in  'Frisco, 
rushed  up  to  him  and  put  a  muzzle  fairly  in  his  face. 
'I'm  going  to  kill  you,  d — n  you!'  Wilks  said.  Jimmy 
never  so  much  as  straightened  his  knee-joint.  'Is 
that  gun  a  Smith  &  "Wesson  or  a  Colt?'  he  asked, 
as  if  it  was  a  case  of  taking  cake  or  pie.  Wilks  was 
dumfounded  by  the  coolness  of  the  man.  He  looked 
as  if  it  would  ease  his  conscience  a  little  if  Jimmy 
would  either  tremble  and  whine  or  at  least  stand  up 
stiff  to  be  shot.  When  he  recovered  from  his  surprise 

he  said,  'Say  your  prayers,  you ,'  and  he  shoved 

the  muzzle  closer  to  Jimmy's  face.  'There's  no  need 
of  hurrying  about  it,'  Jimmy  said ;  'I  haven't  got  any 
gun  and  you  have  the  drop  on  me,  and  I  guess  you 
can  hit  me  at  that  range.' 

"And  Jimmy  talked  more  in  his  quiet  way,  and 
the  next  thing  we  knew  his  hand  flew  up  and  the  re- 
volver went  into  the  air;  and  before  we  had  taken 
stock  of  that  event,  Wilks  was  on  the  pavement 
Jimmy  picked  up  the  revolver  and  took  out  the  car- 
tridges and  handed  it  back  to  Wilks,  with  this  gentle 
advice :  'You  don't  appear  to  know  when  to  use  them, 
so  you're  just  as  well  off  without  them.'  It  was  the 
coolest  thing  a  fellow  who  never  sees  any  more  of 
'Frisco  than  I  do  ever  saw,  and  Jimmy  Pool  had  my 
heart  and  hand  from  that  moment." 

130 


THE  VAGABOND 

The  hero  himself  looked  dreamily  out  to  sea  as  if 
he  were  passing  the  compliment  on  to  the  fishes. 

"And  when  you  happen  on  such  a  man,  in  my  opin- 
ion, Father  Bob,  the  only  thing  to  do  is  to  enlist  him. 
I  think  we'll  find  Jimmy  useful  at  the  mine  when 
we  come  back.  Besides,  his  life  wouldn't  be  safe  in 
'Frisco  now.  Wilks  will  take  his  first  chance  on  a 
dark  night  to  put  a  bullet  in  his  back." 

"What !  I  didn't  think  of  that.  It  looks  as  if  I  was 
sneaking." 

Jimmy's  languid  parts  sprang  into  action.  He 
pushed  through  the  people  on  the  deck  toward  the 
gangway  with  the  agility  of  a  cat.  But  the  tug  ha4 
already  drawn  off,  the  steamer  was  getting  under 
way,  and  the  Vagabond's  detaining  hand  was  on  hia 
shoulder. 

"Well,  I  guess  nobody'll  think  I'm  afraid  of  Wilks, 
anyway,"  he  said.  "There's  one  thing  I  ought  to  tell 
you — I  won't  come  back  if  there's  a  war  between  the 
States.  I'd  have  to  be  in  that.  I  don't  know  as  your 
investment'll  pay  you  very  well." 

The  Vagabond  put  his  hand  on  the  former  private's 
shoulder : 

"Two  hours  ago  I  didn't  know  you,  Jimmy  Pool," 
he  said.  "On  your  looks  and  actions  I  liked  you.  I 
knew  just  how  you  felt  with  your  thoughts  for  months 
all  quivering  in  the  expectancy  of  going  home.  What 
is  the  cost  of  your  fare  beside  the  pleasure  of  your 
company  ?  What  has  money  to  do  with  liking  a  man, 
anyway  ?  I  like  you,  I  tell  you,  Jimmy  Pool,  and  I 
hope  I'll  be  half-way  agreeable  to  you." 

Jimmy  shifted  his  weight  from  one  leg  to  the  other 
and  made  a  compliment : 

131 


THE    VAGABOND 

"And  you're  my  kind  of  a  man,  hat  and  boots  and 
clothes  and  body  in  'em  and  heart  in  body,"  he  said, 
"and  you  played  to  my  soft  spot — my  old  mother." 

With  that,  the  Vagabond  sought  out  the  other  pas- 
sengers, "the  widows  and  cripples,"  whom  he  was 
helping  back  to  the  East.  Each  was  warned  to  keep 
his  kindness  a  secret;  for  all  the  pleasure  and  all  the 
reward  a  deed  held  for  him  was  the  doing.  Lion- 
hearted,  warm-hearted  boy  had  become  lion-hearted, 
warm-hearted  man,  sweetened  by  stern  experience, 
softened  by  the  love  of  his  friends,  dignified  by  power. 

After  the  money  from  the  "pocket"  was  expended, 
there  had  been  ups  and  downs  for  the  three  fortune- 
hunters;  and  on  one  of  the  ups,  at  his  behest,  they 
had  made  a  journey  to  the  Sandwich  Islands  in 
satisfaction  of  his  vagabondish  wish  to  see  a  little 
more  of  the  world. 

When  he  was  nineteen  he  had  found  the  quartz  of 
his  heart's  desire.  This  ledge  called  for  the  knowl- 
edge in  his  beloved  mining  and  metallurgy  book;  in 
the  course  of  time,  by  the  application  of  skill  and 
machinery,  it  would  yield  him  a  great  fortune.  His 
comrades  would  never  want  for  funds  again.  To  the 
Captain  was  assured  a  comfortable  old  age;  to  Tim 
a  competence  in  exchange  for  the  pleasure  of  the 
giant's  love  and  companionship.  For  himself,  he  had 
the  occupation  of  his  choice,  that  of  taking  wealth  out 
of  the  stubborn  rock  without  trading  or  rubbing  el- 
bows in  city  streets.  Yes,  he  was  happy,  infinitely 
happy  in  his  gratitude  to  the  Captain  for  having 
humored  a  boy's  fancy  and  in  having  paid  the  Captain 
back  materially  and  sentimentally. 

And  yet  his  ambition  was  not  complete  because  of 
132 


THE  VAGABOND 

the  glorious  secret  which  was  still  entirely  his  own. 
The  girl  was  as  radiantly  clear  in  his  mind  as  the 
day  after  he  had  seen  her.  He  nursed  his  fancy  as 
one  does  some  sweet  absurdity  that  has  the  simulation 
of  reality  in  day-dreams  only  so  long  as  it  is  not 
shared  with  anyone  else.  He  had  learned  as  soon  as 
the  news  was  brought  to  the  garrison  of  Captain  Lan- 
ley's  death  and  his  daughter's  journey  to  the  Lanley 
plantation.  Afterward,  by  artifice  which  did  not  re- 
veal his  personal  interest,  he  ascertained,  from  time  to 
time,  that  she  had  not  changed  her  residence.  Matur- 
ity had  given  him  a  subtler  appreciation  of  the  barrier 
of  caste.  He  knew  that  they  were  not  separated  by 
distance  alone.  It  was  with  thoughts  of  her  that  he 
had  learned  to  dance  on  one  of  his  visits  to  the  Post ; 
that  he  had  studied  the  ways  of  Southern  officers  and 
their  wives  and  imbibed  the  instinct  of  certain  social 
forms  which  did  not  obtain  in  mining  regions.  He 
had  met  women,  and  pretty  women,  too,  not  only  in 
the  army  but  in  the  little  circle  of  the  city  itself,  and 
he  found  them  toy  figures  beside  the  fair  one  of  his 
imagery. 

At  the  same  time  the  contact  with  camp  or  town 
made  him  sceptical  and  miserable.  How  ridiculous, 
he  thought  then,  that  a  small  boy's  liking  for  a  small 
girl  should  be  the  controlling  feature  of  a  man's  life ; 
how  ridiculous  the  stern  realities  of  human  society 
made  the  fancy  that  had  been  wine  to  his  spirit.  Re- 
turn to  the  mine  made  him  again  the  vagabond — made 
him  joyous,  made  him  himself,  which  is  the  best  ex- 
planation of  him — with  his  thoughts  softly  dwelling 
on  possibilities. 

Did  she  remember  that  odd  little  William  whom 
133 


she  had  christened  Billy?  Would  the  woman  greet 
the  man's  story  of  the  finding  of  a  mine  with  the  de- 
light of  the  Vision  for  the  boy's  capture  of  a  butter- 
fly? For  the  thousandth  time  his  imagination  pict- 
ured her  beauty  in  the  bloom  of  twenty.  He  saw  her 
half  a  head  below  his  own  height,  with  the  frost  of  a 
winter's  day  in  her  words  when  dignity  was  required, 
with  the  freshness  of  a  June  morning  for  her  friends, 
with  the  mole  dimpling  into  her  chin  in  her  momenta 
of  great  happiness  and  in  bestowing  honors.  And  her 
adorable  hair !  It  must  be  long  now  and  thick  enough 
to  make  a  great  braid.  Was  it  still  of  the  color  and 
sheen  of  the  chestnut  fresh  from  the  burr  ?  Yes,  it 
was,  in  the  moments  when  every  man  feels  that  hid- 
den in  some  bower,  far  or  near,  is  the  feminine  coun- 
terpart of  his  masculinity.  Were  her  eyes  still  of  the 
brown  which  could  melt  your  whole  being  into  them 
with  their  commendation  or  in  their  censure  toss 
you  into  the  gutter  ?  Yes,  they  were,  in  the  fancy  of 
the  wanderer  who  lay  on  the  moss  after  the  mid-day 
meal  or  looked  into  the  camp-fire's  embers  or  at  the 
stars  at  night.  Then,  with  a  brush  of  his  arm  across 
his  eyes,  he  saw  the  reality.  Perhaps  the  dimple  was 
gone,  the  mole  prominent  and  bearded  with  scraggly 
hairs;  perhaps  she  had  the  devil's  own  temper.  If 
she  were  not  already  engaged  to  a  scion  of  a  neigh- 
boring plantation,  her  provincial  nature  would  see 
in  him  merely  a  freckled,  sandy-haired  clod  of  a 
miner  and  a  Northerner. 

Moreover,  why  should  he  expect  this  part  of  his 
boyish  dream  to  come  true  when  the  others  had  not  ? 
For  he  had  found  his  first  mine  before  he  had  climbed 
his  mountain;  and  his  quartz  ledge  was  not  in  The 

134 


THE  VAGABOND 

Topper  but  in  a  ridge  between  two  insignificant  peaks. 
Yet  the  facts  were  true  to  the  fancy  in  the  main. 
Though  she  had  changed,  though  he  had  changed,  why 
should  she  not  be  true  in  the  main  ?  Rather  than  ex- 
plode it  with  reality,  he  told  himself,  it  were  better 
to  continue  worshipping  at  the  shrine  of  a  beautiful 
fiction  and  wait  for  time  to  disabuse  him  of  it  and 
make  him  free. 

Time  had  done  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  twelfth 
year  of  his  absence  found  the  ideal  more  firmly  in  his 
heart  than  the  eleventh.  The  crushing  of  the  rock  in 
his  ledge,  the  bags  of  gold  which  he  sent  to  the  mint, 
were  for  her.  He  was  covetous  only  when  he  thought 
of  her  greeting  the  clean-up  with  the  rapturous  smile 
that  had  in  nowise  faded  from  his  memory.  If  he 
made  plans,  far-reaching  and  upbuilding  his  power  in 
the  future,  he  liked  to  think  that  they  looked  toward 
a  domain  at  her  disposal.  It  was  all  out  of  keeping 
with  his  splendid  manhood  that  he  should  be  content 
with  imagery  alone.  Only  association,  he  concluded, 
could  cure  him  of  his  idiosyncrasy ;  or  else — the  blood 
leapt  in  rhythm  to  his  temples  with  the  hope — turn, 
his  dream  into  verity.  His  going  for  machinery  was, 
after  all,  an  excuse.  His  real  object  was  to  feel  the 
egoism-killing  contact  of  a  great  city  like  New  York. 
And  then,  if  he  was  still  ailing,  he  would  call  on  her 
and  be  swept  into  the  road  with  a  stare.  To  his 
friends  a  vagabond  and  the  possessor  of  a  worn  copy 
of  Mining  and  Metallurgy  whose  teachings  he  had 
practised  and  expanded;  to  square-jawed  men  of  af- 
fairs a  calm,  blue-eyed  master  of  his  property,  to  him- 
self he  was  one  who  found  his  strength  and  inspira- 
tion in  a  piece  of  sentimental  folly. 

135 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Of  course  the  mole  is  bearded ;  of  course  you'll  be 
disillusioned,"  said  the  little  devils  to  him. 

"No,  it's  not ;  no,  you'll  not.  It  is  all  coming  true," 
he  told  himself  when  he  rose  glowing  from  his  morn- 
ing dip  in  a  mountain-stream.  "The  mountain  and 
the  mine  and  the  girl !" 


136 


XV 

IMPULSE  BETEAYS  A  SECEET 

When  he  had  kept  it  so  long,  the  Vagabond  was 
surprised  at  himself  for  yielding  his  secret  in  an  im- 
pulse. On  the  second  day  out,  while  he  and  Father 
Bob  were  sitting  together,  well  apart  from  the  other 
passengers,  in  a  reminiscent  mood,  their  first  meeting 
was  rehearsed  again,  point  by  point. 

"What  a  fool  they  thought  that  old  bach,  was,"  said 
the  Captain,  "for  adopting  a  vagabond,  sir,  that  he 
didn't  know  anything  about !  That  shows  what  poor 
judges  we  all  are  about  other  folks's  affairs.  You 
freckle-faced  little  cuss,  you,  you've  renewed  an  old 
man's  youth.  And  you've  climbed  your  mountain  and 
got  your  mine.  Yes,  sir,  you've  gratified  all  your 
ambitions,  just  as  you  said  you  would." 

It  was  then,  in  the  glow  of  filial  love,  on  his  lips  to 
say  that  he  had  not — the  greatest  of  all  remained ;  but 
instead  he  poured  out  his  gratitude  in  language  more 
full  if  no  more  heart-felt  than  that  of  his  boyhood. 
The  Captain  laid  his  hand  on  the  Vagabond's  knee, 
and  patting  it,  said,  fondly: 

"And  where  you  go  Father  Bob  goes,  don't  he,  as 
long  as  he  is  young  enough  to  follow  ?  Together  we'll 
see  the  sights  of  Broadway  and  together  we'll  see 
Washington  and  together  we'll  go  to  Belmore  and 
show  Miss  Felicia  how  this  old  savage,  heathen,  wild 

137 


THE    VAGABOND 

Indian — those  were  her  words,  by  the  Eternal,  sir — 
brings  up  a  boy.  Together!  That's  all  Father  Bob 
asks,  as  long  as  he  lives.  Together!" 

The  old  man's  reference  to  his  age,  a  note  of  sad- 
ness in  his  voice,  his  affection  shining  out  of  his  moist 
eyes,  the  keen  memory  of  his  chivalrous  belief  in  a 
boy's  dream  on  the  guarantee  of  that  boy's  word  and  a 
keener  appreciation  of  obligation  which  manhood 
brought,  made  the  Vagabond  feel  guilty  at  having 
kept  a  thing  of  such  importance  from  his  benefactor. 

"Together!  That's  the  way  it  has  always  been — 
except,  there's  one  thing  I  would  rather  do  alone. 
I  have  to  call  on  a  girl."  Almost  unconsciously  he 
had  let  the  fact  slip. 

"A  girl !"  gasped  the  Captain.  "How  in  the  devil 
—a  girl!" 

It  was  too  late  to  draw  back  now;  abruptly  and 
characteristically  the  Vagabond  told  the  whole  truth. 

"Yes,  to  be  honest,  a  girl  I'm  in  love  with — or 
think  I  am !" 

"A  girl!  Good  God!"  cried  the  Captain.  "I 
never  saw  you  shining  up  to  any  particular  petti- 
coat! Who,  in  thunder — who,  in  thunder,  is  she?" 
He  sat  bolt  upright  with  a  hand  on  each  knee,  search- 
ing the  Vagabond's  face  with  a  drill-sergeant's  stare. 

"Do  you  remember  little  Miss  Lanley  who  used  to 
be  at  the  Post  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  We  called  her  little  Miss  General.  But" 
— the  Captain  puffed  out  his  cheeks  in  his  amaze- 
ment— "how  in  the  devil  ?  She  hasn't  been  in  Cali- 
fornia! You  haven't  been  East!  How  in  the  devil 
can  you  be  in  love  with  a  girl  two  thousand  miles 
away  ?" 

138 


THE  VAGABOND 

"That's  what  I  wonder.  I  don't  even  know  that 
I  am  in  love  with  her.  I  saw  her  for  half  an  hour 
when  I  was  a  boy.  It  was  she  I  came  to  see  at  the 
Post,"  he  went  on,  carried  into  enthusiasm  and  full 
belief  in  his  fancy.  "It  was  she  I  climbed  the  moun- 
tain for ;  she  I  found  the  mine  for.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  her  I  would  never  have  seen  you.  I  was  asking 
the  sentry  about  her  when  you  spied  me." 

"And  you  never  told  me — never,  never,  sir!"  re- 
torted the  Captain. 

"No.  I  thought  it  would  upset  the  argosy  of  my 
dreams.  I  thought  it  would  make  me  seem  ridicu- 
lous, and  it  has.  I  wish  I  hadn't  told  you.  I  am  go- 
ing to  call  on  her ;  that's  all." 

"Ever  written  to  her  ?  Ever  heard  from  her  ?" 

"No.  Probably  she  doesn't  remember  me.  I'm 
simply  going  to  call  on  her  and  tell  her  my  story." 

"Never  told  me!  I  knew  it!"  Father  Bob  pro- 
ceeded, his  wrath  rising  in  contemplation  of  what 
had  been  denied  him  and  what  was  in  store  for  him, 
his  jealousy  fast  making  a  fancy  a  courtship  and  a 
courtship  a  marriage.  "I  knew  it!  I  knew  a  woman 
would  come  between  us.  Yes,  sir,  it's  a  woman  that 
always  does.  Well,  sir,  hitch  on  and  follow!  Bob 
Herrick  ain't  been  in  one  white  man's,  one  greaser's, 
and  five  Injun  wars,  he  ain't  so  old  yet,  that  he  can't 
bach,  it  by  himself.  How  in  the  devil — how" — he 
rose  and  went  pacing  angrily  along  the  deck. 

On  his  part,  the  Vagabond  gazed  wonderingly  out 
on  the  long,  gently  rolling  swell  that  rocked  the 
steamer  on  that  warm  day  with  the  hand  of  a  sleepy 
nurse-maid. 

When  reason  took  the  place  of  indignation,  the 
139 


THE  VAGABOND 

Captain  saw  how  groundless  was  his  alarm.  This 
Billy  was  only  a  boyish  man,  even  as  he  had  been  in 
some  respects  a  mannish  boy.  My  lady  of  Virginia 
would  laugh  at  the  miner  and  send  his  pride  a-soar- 
ing.  He  who  had  seen  so  few  women  would  see  so 
many  in  New  York  that  former  predilections  would 
melt  on  contemplating  their  object,  if,  finally,  he 
went  to  her  at  all. 

Changing  his  tack  completely,  he  sailed  back  in 
the  best  of  humor  to  crack  a  jest  at  the  Vagabond's 
expense.  Thereafter,  whenever  no  one  might  over- 
hear, he  would  snigger  and  whisper  in  the  Vaga- 
bond's ear,  "Girl!"  or,  "I  met  her  for  half  an  hour;" 
or,  "She  probably  has  a  wart  on  her  nose,  now;"  or, 
"You'll  be  in  time  to  witness  her  marriage  to  a  fire- 
eating  secessionist."  At  first,  the  Vagabond  would 
blush  and  flee.  Later,  he  would  smile  and  possibly 
add  a  soft,  "Yes,  Father  Bob."  If  the  Captain  had 
any  idea  that  he  had  applied  a  cure,  he  was  disabused 
of  it  when,  upon  arriving  in  New  York,  they  found 
that  they  were  in  time  to  see  the  inauguration,  an 
opportunity  which  he  advised  they  should  not  miss. 

"Certainly  I  am  in  favor  of  it.  It's  on  my  way 
to  call  on  the  girl,"  said  the  Vagabond. 

Jimmy  Pool  hurried  away  to  his  mother.  Tim  was 
only  too  glad  to  be  left  alone  for  the  great  splurge 
that  he  had  long  nursed  in  his  perfervid  imagination. 

"I'm  going  to  Newland  Centre  and  get  the  best 
span  of  hosses  in  the  country,"  he  said.  "I'm  going 
to  have  gold-plated  harness  and  wear  a  high  hat  and 
a  watch-chain  with  links  as  big  as  your  fist  and  a 
look  like  a  foreign  king,  and  drive  up  in  front  of  Jim 
Hawkins's  door  and  tell  him  I  wouldn't  mind  buy- 
ing his  old  farm  if  it  wasn't  so  d — d  small." 

140 


XVI 

THE    MISTS    ON    THE    PLAIN 

In  half  an  hour  Abraham  Lincoln  would  be  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States.  Meanwhile^  the  Senate 
talked,  with  its  mind  on  the  creeping  hands  of  the 
Senate  clock. 

On  the  floor  was  the  force  and  the  simplicity  of  the 
Republic;  the  Southern  members  longing  to  hear 
the  slap  of  the  gauntlet  at  their  feet;  a  part  of  the 
Northern  members  hoping  that  the  new  knight 
would  throw  it,  and  the  rest  spellbound  by  the  crisis 
and  half  expecting  some  miracle  to  avert  secession 
when  they  knew  that  the  day  of  miracles  was  past — 
all,  to  a  man,  wondering  what  the  great  unknown 
quantity  out  of  the  West,  already  on  his  way  to  the 
Capitol,  would  do. 

In  the  gallery,  in  contrast  to  the  immobile,  tired 
faces  of  a  school-room  full  of  the  representatives 
of  the  passions,  the  cliques,  the  prejudices,  and  the 
great  heart  and  great  principles  of  thirty  millions  of 
people,  were  the  colors  of  woman's  garb  in  competi- 
tive show.  In  the  diplomatic  gallery  facing  the  chair 
was  a  full  panoply  of  medals  and  gold  braid,  most 
amazing  and  ridiculous  to  constituents  from  distant 
places;  pates  bald  and  skins  wrinkled  and  pasty  from 
the  age  and  the  dinners  that  go  with  diplomatic  suc- 
cess, making  a  mask  for  the  glistening  front  of  a  jew- 

141 


THE    VAGABOND 

eller's  window.  Even  the  Ministers  were  interested. 
They  smiled  in  contemplation  of  the  division  of  a 
nation  which  had  imagined  that  it  could  remain  in- 
tact without  an  hereditary  ruler — all  save  the  august 
Cossack,  ever  confident  in  the  might  of  his  acreage 
and  ever  casting  his  eye  abroad  for  the  discomfiture 
of  England.  Scattered  here  and  there  were  the  epau- 
lets of  our  army  and  navy.  On  some  of  the  officers 
their  uniforms  sat  with  the  snug  comfort  of  loyalty; 
on  others,  with  the  irksomeness  of  garments  long  out 
of  style.  But  the  face  of  no  one  showed  more  con- 
cern than  that  of  curiosity.  It  was  a  fete,  with  the 
buzz  of  rambling  comment  looking  down  upon  the 
supposed  obsequies  of  a  nation  that  had  been  fondly 
called  heaven-born  and  indestructible. 

In  spectators'  seats,  which  one  of  the  California 
Senators  had  provided,  were  Father  Bob  and  his 
ward,  who  felt  the  oppression  of  his  "store  clothes"  in 
contrast  to  the  display  around  him.  In  common  with 
everyone,  except  those  who  blinked  from  the  loss  of 
a  night's  sleep  through  the  dull  proceedings  of  the 
floor,  the  Vagabond  was  scanning  the  sloping  walls 
of  faces  for  someone  that  he  knew.  Suddenly  his 
gaze  was  caught  and  held  fast  by  a  party  of  five, 
whose  State  any  Washingtonian  of  that  day  or 
any  reader  of  fiction  of  this  could  have  told  at  a 
glance. 

Item,  one  proud  old  man  of  seventy-five,  clasping 
the  handle  of  his  cane  as  he  sat  erect,  Mr.  Lanley; 
item,  a  woman  of  sixty,  whom  time  had  treated  so 
kindly  as  fully  to  warrant  her  in  reporting  ten  years 
less,  Mrs.  Bulwer;  item,  an  army  officer  of  thirty-five, 
looking  as  if  he  had  seen  more  of  the  world  than  any 

142 


THE  VAGABOND 

of  the  others,  Richard  Bulwer;  item,  a  young  army 
officer,  consciously  handsome,  with  long  black  curia 
and  a  haughtiness  that  could  quickly  turn  sullen,  Jef- 
ferson Southbridge.  His  smiles  were  all  for  the  fifth 
member  of  the  party;  her's  for  everybody,  rippling 
with  the  joy  of  the  scene.  The  Vagabond's  memory 
of  that  face  was  too  clear  for  growth  in  inches  or  the 
expression  of  womanhood  to  deceive  him.  It  was 
she!  He  drank  her  in  with  the  thirst  of  the  many 
years  weighted  with  his  fancy.  He  was  close  enough 
to  know  the  folly  of  his  fears  of  a  bearded  mole.  That 
little  patch  played  into  the  dimple  as  of  yore.  She 
was  the  same  girl,  ruling  those  around  her  as  she  had 
him  in  their  short  acquaintance.  As  he  surveyed  her, 
with  the  blood  drumming  out  a  song  in  his  temples, 
she  never  cast  a  glance  in  his  direction. 

He  had  no  idea  of  the  passing  of  the  minutes,  as 
heart  and  mind  were  lost  in  the  intoxication  of  his 
sight.  A  hush  as  abrupt  as  an  explosion  in  a  cathedral 
recalled  him.  He  looked  in  the  direction  in  which  she 
tossed  her  head  contemptuously  and  saw,  with  the 
light  from  the  roof  streaming  down  upon  his  homely 
face  and  the  dark  passage  of  the  corridor  behind  him, 
Abraham  Lincoln,  in  seeming  apology  for  his  intru- 
sion. His  angularity  was  heightened  by  contrast  with 
the  man  on  whose  arm  he  leaned.  A  nice,  com- 
fortable gentleman,  this  old  President,  long  prostrate 
between  two  stools,  with  a  welcome  arm-chair  by  the 
fire  and  slippered  obscurity  at  hand.  To  the  galleries 
and  the  Senate  he  meant  no  more  than  the  Vice-Presi- 
dent's rostrum  or  the  simple  chairs  for  great  figures 
placed  in  front  of  it  or  any  piece  of  furniture  neces- 
sary to  the  function.  All  parties  knew  him  and  had 

143 


THE  VAGABOND 

done  with  him,  scarcely  taking  the  time  to  give  breath 
to  the  thought^  as  Mr.  Lanley  did,  that  at  least  he  was 
a  gentleman.  Wearily  they  had  counted  the  hours  un- 
til he  should  go,  meanwhile  dissecting  every  word  of 
his  successor.  A  strange-looking  knight  this  for  a 
mighty  work!  It  is  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  now 
for  the  very  leaders  who  saw  him  on  that  day  to  real- 
ize how  he  appeared  to  them  then,  when  a  shouting 
convention  and  geographical  distribution  of  delegates 
had  lifted  him  out  of  semi-obscurity  to  lead  an  im- 
petuous, storm-riding  new  party  that  little  foresaw  the 
crisis  its  success  would  precipitate. 

His  height  was  great,  and  it  was  height  without 
proportion.  His  pendulous  arms  hung  pivotless  by 
his  side.  But  there  was  character  and  power  in  them; 
and  character  and  power  even  in  the  black  coat  which 
hung  on  the  stooping  shoulders;  and  character  and 
power  even  in  the  carelessly  knotted  black  tie. 
The  long,  thin  neck  rose  out  of  the  ill-fitting  collar 
as  if  it  would  lift  the  head  higher  than  the  height 
of  the  shoulders  warranted.  The  ears  were  pro- 
digious. His  barber  might  have  said  that  he  shaved 
only  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  the  hair  away 
from  his  lips;  so  a  fringe  of  beard  encircled  the  chin, 
and  the  great  mouth  with  its  mobile  lines  was  revealed. 
Not  in  the  deep-set,  soft  eyes,  seeming — as  they  were 
— so  ready  to  forgive  human  weakness,  but  in  that 
mouth  lay  the  suggestion  of  the  firmness  that  set  the 
limit  of  his  kindliness.  The  nose  was  as  prodigious 
as  the  mouth  and  ears;  as  prodigious  as  the  man,  who 
was  not  cut  out  nicely  but  with  grand  strokes,  worthy 
of  the  Almighty.  The  bushy  eyebrows  stood  on  two 
bony  promontories,  as  if  guarding  the  sweetness  and 


THE  VAGABOND 

tenderness  of  the  lights  through  which  his  soul  shone 
forth.  A  little  space  of  sallow  skin  and  then  a  thatch 
of  straight  black  hair  hid  the  brain  that  held  the  des- 
tiny of  the  nation.  He  was  of  the  newest  breed  from 
the  newest  part  of  the  New  World,  where  the  rivers 
carry  their  waters  the  length  of  a  continent,  and  men 
are  cast  in  that  mould  which  can  deal  with  great 
things  in  unaffected  simplicity. 

Well  must  he  have  known  what  the  members  of 
the  august  body  were  thinking,  as  well  as  he  could 
keep  his  own  counsel.  The  Southerners,  with  scores 
of  cradle-trained  statesmen  in  their  well-formed  bat- 
tle-lines, smiled  in  elation  over  an  opponent  rough  and 
unskilled.  To  the  Westerners  he  was  "Abe"  Lincoln, 
good  mixer  and  steady  thinker,  and  their  man.  To 
the  Eastern  members  he  was  the  product  of  an  envi- 
ronment at  odds  with  his  task.  Had  they  foreseen  the 
crisis,  the  Northerners,  as  a  whole,  would  have  sunk 
politics  to  choose  some  great  man  of  the  party  of  long- 
standing fame.  We  have  to  thank  them  for  their 
kindness.  We  did  not  need  the  finished  product  of 
public  service,  confident  that  the  wisdom  for  every- 
day affairs  is  sufficient  for  a  crisis.  We  needed  a 
mighty,  patient  soul !  We  needed  the  man ! 

Diffidently,  in  the  tense  silence,  without  even  a  flut- 
tering whisper  to  interrupt  it  now,  Abraham  Lincoln, 
perhaps  the  first  President  to  make  no  physical  effort 
to  rise  to  a  theatrical  occasion,  walked  down  the  aisle 
between  the  packed  law-makers  and  the  packed  gal- 
leries, and  awkwardly  settled  his  lean  person  in  the 
chair  in  front  of  the  Vice-President's  rostrum,  where 
he  awaited,  in  accord  with  the  time-honored  custom, 
the  swearing-in  of  the  Vice-President,  Mr.  Hamlin, 

145 


THE    VAGABOND 

of  Maine,  who  had  walked  over  to  the  Capitol  as  any 
other  plain  citizen  would. 

At  that  moment  Southbridge  was  saying:  "The 
Yankees  needn't  think  anybody'll  doubt  his  origin. 
You  can  see  for  yourself  that  he'd  be  much  more 
at  home  if  you  put  him  in  blue  jeans  and  gave  him 
an  axe  and  a  log." 

Miss  Lanley  was  sober. 

"I — I  wish,  for  the  South's  sake,  he  wasn't  so — 
so  strong,"  gasped  her  womanly  intuition.  "He's 
homely,  he's  uncouth,  but  oh,  he  is  strong!" 

Already  the  galleries  were  emptying,  leaving  the 
Vice-President  to  deliver  his  speech  to  vacant  seats, 
while  the  spectators  hastened  to  their  places  on  the 
Capitol  steps.  When  the  Vagabond  saw  the  Virgin- 
ians rise,  he  led  the  way  for  the  Captain  and  him- 
self to  go,  as  well,  thinking  not  of  addressing  his  Vi- 
sion of  the  Pool  but  of  getting  a  closer  view.  As 
he  stepped  from  the  bottom  stair  of  one  of  the  outlets 
of  the  gallery  into  the  long  corridor,  looking  among 
the  throng  and  not  at  those  immediately  near  for  a 
sight  of  her,  he  had  that  chilling,  ugly  impression  of 
treading  on  a  lady's  gown.  He  drew  back,  with  some 
awkward,  most  sincere  word  of  apology,  and  eyes 
met  eyes,  with  a  thrill  to  one  pair  only.  After  wait- 
ing for  thirteen  years,  to  introduce  himself  to  her 
in  that  way!  The  mole  dipped  slightly  into  the  chin, 
puckered  with  impatience  on  behalf  of  that  poor  back 
breadth,  and  she  turned  away,  while  in  the  gap  that 
his  sudden  and  forcible  halt  had  formed,  the  young- 
est of  her  companions  passed  between  them. 

"The  shouters  for  Abraham,"  said  Southbridge, 
sounding  the  words  in  imitation  of  the  Yankee  nasal 

146 


THE    VAGABOND 

twang,  "seem  to  have  as  big  feet  as  Abraham.  Prob- 
ably Abraham  will  make  this  gent  Minister  to  Aus- 
tria. He  would  shine  at  court." 

"He  was  sorry  enough,  poor  bumpkin!"  the  Vaga- 
bond overheard  her  say.  "Don't  let  him  hear  you." 

"Yes,  it  might  happen  to  anybody,"  the  elder  of- 
ficer added,  with  the  sharpness  of  long  acquaintance 
with  the  other's  foibles.  "Everybody  who  comes  to 
an  inauguration  can't  be  a  Chesterfield  or  where 
would  be  the  distinction  for  you?" 

The  party  separated  themselves  from  the  crowd 
under  the  dome  and  passed  out  at  the  west  wing,  thus 
signifying  that  they  had  seen  enough  without  wit- 
nessing the  open-air  ceremonies. 

"When  you  are  moving  among  ladies,  sir,"  said  the 
Captain,  with  a  wink,  "keep  one  eye  on  the  tail  of 
their  gowns  and  the  other  eye  on  the  look-out  to  di- 
vine their  wishes.  In  that  way,  sir,  you'll  come  to 
be  appreciated  by  the  whole  woman." 

Preoccupied  by  his  embarrassment  and  exaspera- 
tion, the  Vagabond  was  oblivious  of  what  passed 
around  him.  The  Judges  of  the  Supreme  Court,  the 
members  of  the  Cabinet,  the  foreign  Ministers  filing 
down  to  their  places  on  the  platform,  the  favored 
constituents  and  their  wives  and  daughters  who 
packed  the  tiers  of  seats,  were  a  confused  mass  of 
bustling,  chattering  people.  With  an  effort  he 
roused  himself  to  a  sense  of  appreciation  when  his 
companion,  with  affectionate  pride,  pointed  out  the 
still  majestic  figure  of  the  veteran  of  two  foreign 
wars  twenty  years  apart,  towering  on  his  horse  above 
the  field  of  humanity  that  eddied  under  the  varying 
impulses  of  its  atoms,  until,  with  a  shock,  it  was 

147 


THE  VAGABOND 

still  as  the  spare  form  of  Abraham  Lincoln  stood  be- 
fore the  people,  who,  by  their  free  will,  had  dele- 
gated their  power  to  him.  In  that  silence  of  the 
great  assembly,  when  all  speech,  all  thought,  all 
heart-beats  seemed  to  have  stopped  with  a  click,  they 
watched  him  kiss  the  Bible  and  take  the  oath  to  that 
Constitution  whose  interpretation  was  soon  to  be  be- 
fore the  final  tribunal  of  the  sword. 

When  he  began  to  speak,  the  silence  of  his  ad- 
herents was  broken  by  the  shouted  assertions  and 
questions  of  his  enemies,  which  would  not  have 
ceased  had  he  been  an  orator.  But  the  age  of  ora- 
tory, when  swelling  sentences  rose  from  swelling 
chests ;  when  the  agitator  stormed  and  the  time-server 
compromised  in  rounded  pauses;  when  sectional 
hatred  was  inspired  by  bigoted  speech  for  local  polit- 
ical ends,  had  passed.  This  leader,  a  citizen,  talked  to 
citizens.  His  gestures  had  not  been  studied  before- 
hand in  a  Sumner's  mirror;  his  thoughts  were  not 
sprung  from  a  lawyer's  bow.  His  garb,  his  gauntness, 
his  awkwardness  became  the  grace  of  personality,  the 
emblems  of  power;  and  the  crowd  without  exception 
listened  not  to  an  oration  but  to  a  talk  from  the  heart 
of  the  new  President  to  the  heart  of  the  people,  who 
have  always  been  wise  when  their  servants  have  been 
truthful. 

"He's  like  a  great  peak,"  said  the  Vagabond  to 
the  Captain.  "Those  that  don't  know  it  can't  see  for 
the  fog  that  hangs  over  the  plains.  The  peak  will  not 
dissolve  in  the  mist.  It  still  will  be  there,  serene 
and  unchanged,  when  the  sun  has  driven  the  fog 
away;  and  then  those  who  see  it  for  the  first  time 
will  call  themselves  discoverers." 

148 


xvn 

MISS    FELICIA   AS   AN   AUNT 

"Poor  bumpkin!"  The  Vagabond  kept  repeating 
her  exclamation  to  get  the  weight  of  it,  the  while 
he  looked  at  his  ready-made  clothes.  "He  was  sorry 
enough,  poor  bumpkin!  Don't  let  him  hear  you!"  If 
her  remark  had  the  sting  of  condescension,  it  had 
also  the  evidence  of  a  desire  not  to  wound  a  stranger's 
feelings  any  more  than  she  would  have  kept  the  but- 
terfly a  prisoner  in  other  days. 

Instead  of  being  angry,  on  consideration  he  found 
here  a  note  in  keeping  with  his  conception  of  her 
character.  As  far  as  man  could  well  be  from  having 
his  dream  fulfilled,  he  was  nearer  than  he  had  been, 
in  that  the  essentials  to  make  it  true  existed.  For 
his  ideal  was  a  reality  that  definitely  lived  and 
moved.  It  was  creditable,  when  desire  to  know  her 
better  and  desire  to  overcome  the  ill  impression  he 
had  made  called  him  to  her — above  all,  creditable  in 
one  who  always  expressed  himself  in  action — not  to 
seek  precipitately  another  meeting.  Washington  was 
no  place  for  telling  his  story,  he  knew;  the  company 
she  had  with  her  was  in  nowise  fit  to  be  listeners.  She 
must  be  alone  the  next  time  he-  saw  her  and — again 
he  looked  at  his  ready-made  clothes,  bought  in  a 
hurry.  What  man  could  feel  like  a  knight  in  them! 
If  he  had  been  in  a  miner's  shirt  he  was  sure  that  he 

149 


THE    VAGABOND 

would  not  have  stepped  on  her  gown,  which,  the  more 
he  thought  of  it,  deserved  her  censure.  It  is  proper 
enough  to  talk  of  the  coat  not  making  the  man;  but 
the  man,  being  made,  is  neglectful  if  his  coat  does 
not  fit.  Father  Bob  showed  a  nice  appreciation  of 
this  in  that  he  would  not  pay  his  call  on  General 
Scott  until  he  had  a  new  uniform,  and  from  him  the 
Vagabond  had  imbibed  habits  of  neatness  and  a  care 
as  to  his  personal  appearance. 

Anon,  he  told  himself  that  clothes  did  not  make 
one  awkward;  a  man  could  avoid  that  though  he  was 
clad  in  a  night-cap,  linen  duster,  and  miner's  boots,  if 
— and  the  ifs  were  rather  against  him.  His  garb  set 
on  his  limbs  in  the  same  awkward  repression  that 
the  crowds  and  the  talk  of  place  and  preference  at 
Willard's  between  shots  at  the  cuspidors  set  on  his 
spirit.  It  occurred  to  him  that  there  was  one  thing 
which,  however  unimportant  it  was  in  mine-finding 
and  mine-managing,  might  play  a  great  part  in  win- 
ning a  girl.  He  looked  into  the  mirror  in  his  room, 
fearfully,  questioningly. 

"Those  freckles  are  pretty  nearly  washed  out,"  he 
said;  "but  the  eyes,  damnation!  They're  fast  dye, 
like  a  china  doll's.  The  hair — it  isn't  exactly  red  now, 
or  brown,  either !  However,  I'm  a  pretty  good  moun- 
tain-climber, anyway,  and  one  day  I'll  appear  on  the 
Lanley  plantation  with  the  manner  of  a  man  who  is 
used  to  walking  on  carpets  in  a  maze  of  trains." 
With  that,  he  laughed  lightly;  for  he  could  not  long 
be  solemn  or  introspective. 

His  readiness  to  leave  "Washington,  his  silence  as 
to  the  girl,  led  the  Captain  into  the  great  error  of 
supposing  that  his  ward — who  at  that  moment  saw  in 

150 


THE    VAGABOND 

fancy  a  face  framed  in  a  bonnet — had  realized  the 
breadth  of  the  Potomac  River  in  1861  and  was  al- 
ready quit  of  his  folly.  Therefore,  he  broke  out  mis- 
chievously in  his  joy  with  a  nudge  in  the  ribs  and 
"Girl!"  which  the  Vagabond  received  with  an  "Oh, 
yes!"  of  some  satisfaction  over  the  fact  that  evidently 
the  Captain  had  not  recognized  among  the  people  in 
the  gallery  the  little  Miss  General  of  the  Post. 

Before  the  train  which  took  them  to  Belmore  came 
to  a  stop,  the  Vagabond  had  a  good  view  of  the 
Judge,  standing  on  the  platform,  only  a  little  more 
changed  than  the  old  town  itself.  He  had  actually 
given  up  the  stock,  supplanting  it  by  a  style  of  collar 
five  years  out  of  date,  and  his  girth  was  reaching  pro- 
portions that  were  more  indicative  of  judicial  solidity 
than  of  systematic  exercise.  His  face,  once  older 
than  his  age — an  illusion  that  had  made  him  the 
youngest  judge  the  county  had  ever  had — was  now 
younger,  being  of  the  kind  that  sets  its  expression 
early  and  is  preserved  by  an  even  temper.  The  Vaga- 
bond leapt  from  the  car-step  with  a  boyish  shout,  and 
before  his  uncle  could  resist  he  had  his  arms  around 
him  in  a  press  of  affection  that  left  the  Bench  with 
little  breath.  They  made  a  striking  contrast,  the 
soft-tissued,  book-loving  office  hermit  and  the  lithe, 
muscular,  quick-moving  youth. 

"Now,  sir,"  the  Vagabond  said,  "I'll  sit  in  the 
court  all  day  and  I'll  let  you  read  law  to  me  all  night 
to  pay  you  for  being  the  mean,  ungrateful  little  beg- 
gar that  I  was.  And  here's  Father  Bob,  only  five  or 
six  years  younger  than  when  you  saw  him  last." 

"Ten,"  prompted  the  Captain.  "Well,  sir,  I 
brought  him  back,  didn't  I?  You  were  well  rid  of 

151 


THE    VAGABOND 

him,  Judge.  He's  a  devil,  sir,  a  devil.  You'd  never 
kept  him  in  that  law-office.  Why,  California  isn't 
big  enough  for  him!" 

The  Judge,  meanwhile  surveying  his  nephew,  was 
a  picture  of  serene  family  pride.  He  had  treasured 
this  home-coming. 

"And  Miss  Felicia  ?  I  thought  she'd  be  here,  too — 
she'd  be  with  you !  I  didn't  think  it  necessary  to  tele- 
graph to  both." 

"She's  up  at  the  house,"  said  the  Judge,  "and  so 
far  as  I  can  comprehend  a  woman's  motives,  she  will 
probably  not  set  the  dog  on  us  if  we  pay  our  re- 
spects." 

"Miss  Felicia!"  said  the  Vagabond,  wagging  his 
head.  "Is  it  still  Miss  ?" 

"It  is,"  was  the  stern  response. 

"Oh,  uncle,  uncle,  uncle!"  repeated  the  Vagabond; 
while  the  Captain,  determined  that  the  teasing  should 
not  be  on  one  side,  nudged  him  and  said,  "Girl!" 
which  the  Judge  misunderstood  to  the  point  of  anger. 

"Shall  we  go  to  Miss  Hope's?"  said  he,  in  the  man- 
ner of  charging  a  jury. 

They  found  the  lady  crocheting  in  the  sitting-room. 
Upon  their  entry  she  rose  with  a  formal  bow  as  if 
she  were  receiving  a  bishop. 

"Oh,  you  can't  put  me  off  with  any  prim  good- 
mornings!"  the  Vagabond  cried,  in  ecstasy.  "I'm  not 
so  modest  as  the  Judge,  dear  aunt." 

"Aunt  ?"  exclaimed  Miss  Felicia. 

Before  she  could  protest  farther,  he  had  his  arms 
around  her  and  had  planted  half  a  dozen  kisses  on 
her  cheeks,  and  finally  her  lips  met  his  in  a  kind  of 
consenting  pucker.  The  Captain  was  put  out  by  this 

152 


THE    VAGABOND 

impetuosity.  He  had  been  rehearsing  for  months 
what  he  should  say  by  way  of  introduction  of  his  pro- 
tege to  that  lady  who  had  questioned  the  ability  of 
an  army  officer  to  care  for  a  boy's  morals.  He  spoke 
it  now  mechanically  and  not  with  that  mock  humility 
he  had  promised  himself. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  so  please  you,  this  is  the  barbarous, 
uneducated  savage  I've  brought  up." 

"He  quite  justifies  the  compliment,"  Miss  Felicia 
confessed,  while  her  eyes  were  bright  with  admira- 
tion for  his  positive  manner,  and  two  spots  glowing 
on  her  cheeks  made  her  the  despair  of  the  cautioui 
Bench. 

"Aunt,  aunt — aunt  I  shall  always  call  you,"  the 
Vagabond  went  on,  holding  her  off  at  arms'  length, 
"no  matter  how  faint  the  judicial  heart.  You  don't 
know  how  fond  I  am  of  you  since  I've  thought  you 
over.  Oh,  but  you  haven't  grown  a  day  older!  I'm 
proud  of  being  associated  with  such  a  good-looking 
relative."  "With  that,  he  kissed  her  again,  while  the 
spots  on  her  cheeks  spread  and  the  Judge  changed 
color  and  sighed.  "I  hope  you  forgive  me  for  being 
such  an  intractable  boy.  Just  think  how  much  I 
wanted  to  climb  that  mountain!  Do  you  forgive  me?" 

His  grammar  was  good ;  his  manner  was  not  with- 
out distinction,  she  had  to  admit. 

"I  forgive  myself,"  said  Miss  Felicia,  "for  insisting 
on  John's  keeping  you.  It  is  very  sweet  of  you  to 
think  so  much  of  an  old  maid."  Tears  sparkled  in 
her  eyes.  She  wiped  them  away  as  if  they  were 
wicked  intruders.  "'Now,  sir,  let  me  look  at  you!" 
She  drew  back  a  few  feet  and  surveyed  him  critically. 
"You're  a  pretty  fair  specimen  of  a  young  man  and 

153 


THE    VAGABOND 

you've  still  enough  freckles  left  for  mischief,"  she 
added,  with  a  courtesy  that  made  her  seem  more 
youthful ;  a  fact  that  did  not  escape  the  Bench,  which 
wiped  its  brow,  helplessly. 

She  unbent  more  and  more,  until,  besides  being 
mirthful,  she  developed  underneath  her  prim  exte- 
rior a  dry  wit  that  illumined  her  shrewdness  as  she 
questioned  him  about  his  work.  So  encouraged  was 
the  Judge  by  her  good-humor  that  for  the  first  time 
in  two  years  he  formally  came  to  the  attack  that 
night  in  a  most  florid  speech  introduced  by  the  happy 
home-coming,  which  was  refused  in  as  few  words  as 
usual.  The  next  day  he  responded  to  his  nephew's 
badinage  thus: 

"There  are  conditions  under  which  I  should  ac- 
cept it  amiably;  but  under  the  present  circumstances 
it  is  a  painful  reminder  of  what  might  have  been." 

The  Vagabond  asked  pardon  and  was  the  more 
regretful  that  so  fine  a  pair  should  be  separated.  In' 
deed,  he  turned  match-maker. 

"You  must  know  some  fine  woman  of  thirty  or  so, 
a  widow,  say,"  he  went  on.  "Suppose  you  take  her 
out  driving  and  to  church  and  show  her  attentions 
generally." 

"Why?"  asked  the  man  of  law,  blandly. 

"To  win  Aunt — Aunt  Felicia.  She  would  resent 
it,  pretend  not  to  care,  and  discover  her  own  feelings. 
Result,  she  would  melt." 

"I — I  couldn't  do  that,"  responded  the  man  of 
law.  "Felicia  is  the  only  woman  in  Belmore — in  the 
world,  I  may  as  well  say — that  I  know  at  all  well. 
She's  the  only  one  I  can  talk  to.  Why,  on  my  word, 
I  wouldn't,  know  what  to  say  to  any  other.  I  can't 

154: 


THE    VAGABOND 

talk  about  crinoline."  Then  he  turned  on  the  Vaga- 
bond with  an  indignation  which  is  possible  even  in  an 
equable  temperament :  "I  am  a  patient  man,  but,  by 
God  Almighty,  I  resent  this  interference  in  my  pri- 
vate affairs!" 

"Not  interference — interest,  please.  However, 
I  wash  my  hands  of  you  both,  and  I  would  no  more 
do  anything  to  hurt  you,  uncle,  than  I  would  give 
my  mine  to  the  first  beggar  I  met  on  the  street-corner. 
I'm  fond  of  you  and  of  my  aunt,  and  if  you  were 
united,  why,  1  could  unite  my  affections." 

Nevertheless,  the  first  time  he  was  alone  with  Miss 
Felicia  he  led  up  to  the  wisdom,  the  natural  logic 
of  a  happy  consummation  in  which  he  would  be  will- 
ing to  be  the  best  man. 

"Where  is  your  halter?"  Felicia  asked,  after  listen- 
ing demurely,  her  lips  twitching  with  amusement  or 
hauteur — it  was  hard  to  tell  which. 

"My  halter!" 

"Yes.  Did  John  pull  it  out  of  your  hand  when 
you  were  leading  him  down  the  road?" 

"No.  I  met  him  heart-broken  by  the  wayside  and 
came  to  plead  his  cause."  He  drew  a  long  face. 
"Mine  is  not  a  grateful  task.  I  undertake  it  only 
because  I  am  certain  of  my  premises.  I  am  certain 
that  at  heart  you  love  him!" 

"Villain!"  shrieked  Felicia,  because  it  was  the  first 
word  that  came  to  her  mind.  "I  don't!  I  don't!" 
came  over  her  shoulder,  as  she  rushed  out  of  the 
room,  closing  the  door. 

When  he  opened  it  cautiously  after  a  judicious  in- 
terval he  found  her  wildly  dusting  the  piano  for  the 
sixth  time. 

155 


THE    VAGABOND 

"You  don't  withdraw  your  invitation  to  supper, 
do  you,  aunt?"  he  asked,  humbly. 

"It  depends.  I  don't  if  you  will  never  mention 
that  subject  again,  never,  never!" 

"Never,  then ;  absolutely  never,  till  I  throw  rice  at 
you!"  he  replied. 

"Pooh!"  responded  Felicia.  "I'll  at  least  marry  a 
man  that  has  a  mind  of  his  own.  John!  He's  for 
compromise.  He  says  Greeley  is  carried  away  by 
the  power  of  his  language  to  express  radical  views. 
He's  for  something — he  doesn't  kno*w  what  he's 
for — something  to  please  the  slave-owners  and  save 
the  Union  and  make  everybody  as  small  as  his  con- 
science." 

"Why,  do  you  want  him  to  agree  with  you  on 
everything  and  show  he  has  a  mind  of  his  own  in  that 
way?" 

"No!  No!  I — I  want  him  to  be  reasonable!"  she 
fairly  sputtered. 


156 


xvm 

HIS    HORSE    CASTS    A    SHOE 

It  befell  that  Miss  Felicia  and  the  Captain,  for- 
merly of  two  opposite  poles  of  thought — the  severely 
civil,  as  a  New  England  Indian  sympathizer  under- 
stood it,  and  the  severely  military,  as  an  Indian 
fighter  understood  it — were  in  hearty  accord.  To- 
gether they  read  the  Tribune,  applauding  its  editor- 
ial passion,  while  the  Judge  gravely  shook  his  head 
over  the  news  columns  of  the  Times.  If  the  South- 
erners wanted  to  rebel,  let  them  rebel,  said  the  Cap- 
tain; and  then,  ma'am,  let  the  United  States  put  re- 
bellion down  in  the  only  way  to  put  a  rebellion 
down — shoot  it  down,  ma'am,  shoot  it  down !  In  dif- 
ferent words,  Miss  Felicia  expressed  the  same  opin- 
ion. Better,  a  thousand  times,  that  blood  should 
flow,  said  she,  than  that  a  people  should  stultify  their 
consciences. 

"The  North  and  the  South,  entranced  by  their  in- 
vective, are  engaged  in  a  mad  contest  of  misrepre- 
sentation of  each  other,"  said  the  Judge.  "I  still 
hope  that  reason  will  prevail."  And  he  went  back 
to  his  library  and  looked  at  the  portraits  of  Marshall 
(Virginian)  and  Jefferson  (Virginian),  and  shook  his 
head  sadly  and  burrowed  in  his  leather-bound  books 
for  consolation. 

157 


THE    VAGABOND 

To  the  Vagabond,  the  continual  discussion  stood 
for  that  strange  thing  called  politics,  which  had  little 
interest  for  him.  When  a  Californian  would  take 
to  the  trail,  he  thought,  an  Easterner  takes  to  talk- 
ing. Soon  his  views  were  too  well  known  to  be  fur- 
ther sought. 

"I  am  willing  to  leave  it  to  Abraham  Lincoln,"  he 
always  said. 

It  was  incomprehensible  to  his  simple  nature,  en- 
tirely constructive,  that  either  side  should  believe  in 
its  verbiage  so  far  as  to  try  to  destroy  the  other. 

Meanwhile,  he  was  preoccupied  with  something 
of  far  more  interest  to  him  than  politics  of  any 
order.  The  girl's  face  flitted  before  his  eyes  be- 
fore he  slept  and  upon  waking.  He  found  a  new 
pleasure  in  being  alone,  for  then  he  was  in  her  com- 
pany. The  secession  of  States  was  to  him,  most  of 
all  and  worst  of  all,  the  heightening  of  the  barrier 
between  them.  Nothing  about  the  crisis  was  so  vex- 
atious to  him  as  the  tendency  of  everyone  to  make  it 
a  personal  matter.  When  the  rest  of  the  world  was 
asking,  "Will  Lincoln  call  for  troops?"  he  was  ask- 
ing, "Why  shouldn't  a  girl  love  a  man  though  he 
come  to  her  out  of  the  enemy's  land?"  When  the 
rest  of  the  world  was  asking,  "Will  Virginia  secede?" 
he  was  asking,  "Do  Virginia  women  have  as  strong 
political  prejudices  as  Aunt  Felicia?" 

His  objects  in  postponing  his  visit  to  the  Lanley 
homestead  were  twofold.  He  waited  upon  the  sub- 
sidence of  the  war  excitement,  when  the  curtain 
should  go  down  on  the  "riot  of  words"  in  a  compro- 
mise ;  and  he  wanted  to  be  more  sure  of  himself  as  a 
dweller  in  the  centres  of  civilization.  The  latter  hur- 

158 


THE    VAGABOND 

ried  him  to  "New  York  while  the  Captain  was  on  a 
visit  to  an  old  major  at  the  Post  and  Tim  Booker  was 
still  using  the  paint-brush  dipped  in  red.  A  Broad- 
way tailor  made  him  feel  more  at  ease;  he  attended 
to  the  manufacture  of  his  machinery;  and  he  had 
the  entree  to  certain  houses  whose  formalities  were 
supposed  to  take  off  rough  edges. 

When  the  Captain  rejoined  him  early  in  April, 
Sumter  lay  under  the  Confederate  guns,  whose  blast 
might  at  any  moment  come  as  the  foreword  of  war. 
Even  this  news  New  York  received  with  the  bland- 
ness  of  a  reading  public  over-used  to  sensation.  It 
was  the  old  cry  of  "Wolf!  wolf!"  said  mankind  over 
its  morning  papers  in  the  horse-cars.  The  days  wore 
on,  until  the  inevitable  was  as  clear  to  the  thought- 
ful as  the  outline  of  Trinity's  steeple  against  the  sky. 
To  one  whose  country  had  been  his  employer  and 
his  passion,  the  attitude  of  the  great  city  immured  in 
its  own  concerns  seemed  callous  and  heartless. 

"The  time  has  come  for  me  to  go  to  Washington 
and  tell  General  Scott  that  I  am  at  his  service,"  the 
Captain  declared. 

It  was  not  until  they  were  on  the  train  that  the 
Vagabond  revealed  that  his  own  object  in  coming 
was  more  than  comradeship. 

"I  think  I  had  better  hurry  up  and  call  on  the  girl," 
he  said. 

"What  in  the  devil!  What!  What!  I  thought  you 
had  got  over  that  foolishness.  Hm-m !  Still  waters 
run  deep.  I  might  have  known  you  wouldn't,  you've 
been  so  quiet  about  it." 

"Well,  what  did  you  think  of  her?  Or  didn't  you 
recognize  her?  No,  you  didn't.  You  didn't  know 

159 


THE    VAGABOND 

that  the  girl  whose  gown  I  stepped  on  was  one  and 
the  same  with  little  Miss  General!" 

Recollection  was  quick  enough  with  the  Captain 
now.  He  laughed  at  himself  as  a  stupid  old  bachelor, 
who  ought  ''.  ">  have  known  her  by  the  mole  on  her 
chin,  if  in  no  other  way.  Then  he  realized  that  her 
beauty  only  added  to  the  difficulties. 

"You  are  actually  going  down  to  her  place  to  call 
on  her?"  he  asked. 

"Why,  of  course,  Father  Bob." 

"Expect  me  to  go  along  to  introduce  you,  eh  ?" 

"No.  I  wouldn't  have  you  for  worlds.  Two  is 
company." 

"Do  you  expect  she  will  recognize  you?" 

"No.  If  she  should,  it  might  spoil  the  point  of 
my  story." 

The  Captain's  vexation  was  growing  under  the 
spur  of  the  Vagabond's  airy  responses. 

"I  thought  you'd  be  like  this  if  you  ever  got  in 
love,"  he  said.  "Are  you  telling  her — yes,  sir,  are 
you  going  to  tell  her  you  are  in  love  ?" 

"If  I  have  the  great  privilege  of  being  alone  with 
her,  I  think  I'd  better ;  for  it  will  be  my  only  chance 
for  some  time  if  there's  a  war." 

"How  in  the  devil!"  whispered  the  Captain, 
hoarsely.  "Don't  you  know  she  hates  a  Yankee  like 
poison?  Where's  your  self-respect?  Don't  you  know 
she'll  make  all  kinds  of  fun  of  you?  Her  grand- 
father'll  take  his  cane  to  you.  Yes,  sir,  more  likely 
he'll  take  his  pistol.  Where's  your  self-respect?  Do 
you  want  to  turn  yourself  into  a  circus — into  a 
booby — you,  a  man  of  means  and  position,  sir — and 
position,  sir — going  hat  in  hand  where  you're  not 
wanted?" 

160 


THE  VAGABOND 

"You  make  it  more  interesting  than  I  supposed. 
If  it  weren't  for  surprises  the  world  would  be  exceed- 
ingly dull,  Father  Bob." 

"Confound  you,  sir!  Did  I  bring  you  up  to  act 
like  this?"  the  Captain  sputtered.  "What  excuse 
have  you  got  to  offer?  Going  to  say,  'I  dreamed  I 
loved  you,  Miss;  will  you  name  the  day?'  Going  to 
pass  yourself  off  as  a  pedler?" 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  It's  not  so  bad.  Still, 
I  think  I  have  a  better  way." 

"Well,  all  I've  got  to  say  is  that  when  a  man's 
bound  to  make  a  fool  of  himself,  why,  push  him 
along  and  have  the  agony  over.  Go  ahead!  go 
ahead!" 

The  Captain  turned  and  looked  out  of  the  window 
in  his  huff,  and  the  Vagabond,  leaning  toward  him, 
put  his  hand  ever  so  gently  on  his  shoulder  and  said, 
softly  and  consolingly: 

"I'm  sorry  not  to  take  you.  Maybe  I  can  next 
time." 

"Now  you're  poking  fun  at  me — trying  to  make 
out  I'm  jealous,  by  the  Eternal!  Well,  there's  no  use 
of  wasting  words.  I'll  have  my  joke  on  you  when  you 
come  back."  He  slapped  his  protege's  knee  and 
called  him  a  villain — that  kind  of  a  villain  which  in- 
dicates fondness. 

The  national  peril  was  on  every  tongue  as  the 
Captain  and  the  Vagabond  passed  through  the 
streets  of  Washington,  where  the  different  provincial 
streams  from  States  and  districts  make  a  political  city 
in  the  dullest  of  times.  At  Willard's,  where  they 
dined,  waiters  worked  their  way  through  the  gestures 
of  disputants  and  prophets.  The  Captain  met  an- 

161 


THE  VAGABOND 

other  veteran,  who  shared  his  table.  They  got  on 
swimmingly  as  long  as  they  were  inquiring  after  the 
health  of  various  comrades;  but  when  it  came  to 
secession,  the  other  veteran  was  for  compromise, 
while  the  Captain,  with  a  thunderous  "By  G — ,  sir !" 
declared  that  the  only  way  to  put  a  rebellion  down 
was  to  shoot  it  down,  sir. 

While  they  argued,  the  Vagabond  was  despatching 
his  meal  and  counting  the  minutes  to  a  purpose. 
When  he  rose  and  said  that  he  was  going  to  catch 
the  train  to  Alexandria,  which  was  a  little  nearer 
than  Washington  to  a  certain  plantation,  the  Captain 
went  with  him  to  the  door  of  the  dining-room  (where 
the  least  concerned  of  all  present  about  the  fate  of 
his  race,  the  black  head-waiter,  raised  a  walking-beam 
arm  to  usher  in  the  guests)  and  seized  the  Vagabond 
by  the  lapel  of  his  coat.  The  discussion  and  the  ex- 
citement had  warmed  his  blood  and  his  partisanship 
and  given  birth  to  an  apprehension. 

"Look  here,  sir,"  he  said,  "suppose  there  is  war, 
what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"Seems  to  me  that's  before  we  come  to  the  bridge. 
Honestly,  I  haven't  thought  of  it.  I'm  leaving  my 
part  of  it  to  Lincoln,  I  repeat.  Of  one  thing  I'm 
sure:  I'd  rather  climb  a  mountain  than  go  to  war, 
and  just  now  I'd  rather  go  to  see  the  girl  than  either." 

This  seemed  to  the  old  man  very  much  like  evasion. 
He  had  a  vision  of  this  care-free  youth,  with  his  ideas 
of  chivalry,  carried  away  by  the  cause  of  the  South 
and  the  guile  of  a  woman's  beauty. 

"I  said  suppose,  sir,  suppose!" 

"Why,  what  should  I  be  doing  except  keeping  step 
with  you,  Father  Bob?  I  must  hurry.  I'll  be  with 

162 


THE  VAGABOND 

you  to-morrow  or  the  day  after,  at  the  latest.  It's 
not  a  long  story!"  he  called  back,  as  he  hastened  out. 

In  his  imagination,  the  Captain  put  terrible  re- 
sponsibilities on  the  head  of  Miss  Lanley.  He  began 
to  regard  his  ward  as  an  enigma,  and  he  blamed  him- 
self for  running  the  risk  of  bringing  him  East  and 
possibly  changing  his  nature  from  simplicity  to  com- 
plexity; for  the  fact  that  a  man  who  had  fought  at 
Lundy's  Lane  counselled  compromise  had  made  the 
world  awry.  On  his  approach  to  his  table  he  saw 
the  veteran  stiffening  to  renew  the  conflict,  and  he 
himself  stiffened  and  thought  that  if  the  boy  came 
to  believe  in  the  other  side,  then,  in  all  justice  to  his 
own  conscience,  he  must  fight  as  he  believed  and  his 
adopted  father  would  do  the  same. 

As  for  the  Vagabond,  before  he  retired  for  the 
night  he  had  visited  a  livery-stable,  where  he  had 
not  chosen  a  horse  for  a  few  hours'  journey  until  he 
had  examined  the  hoofs  of  several. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  at  dawn  the  next  day  he  was 
riding  along  a  Virginia  highway  upon  the  errand 
which  has  taken  more  than  one  knight,  with  a  bold 
heart  beneath  his  breast-plate  and  a  restless  brain  un- 
der his  helmet,  into  the  enemy's  country.  He  en- 
tertained no  conception  of  his  journey  as  Quixotic. 
Did  the  good  Don  of  blessed  memory  ever  think  of 
himself  as  being  so  ?  If  folly  did  not  seem  the  reason- 
able thing  to  its  perpetrators,  there  would  be  little 
romance  in  the  world. 

No  miser  could  have  counted  his  day's  gains  with 
more  pleasure  than  our  hero  found  in  the  sheer  de- 
light of  living.  From  his  saddle  he  looked  out  upon 
the  oldest  of  the  colonies  in  the  spring-time.  A  week's 

163 


THE  VAGABOND 

sunshine  had  dried  the  mud.  The  foliage  was  freshly 
unfolded  and  the  dry  air  seemed  to  sing  in  his  nos- 
trils, the  while  anticipation  sang  in  his  heart.  He 
was  going  to  see  a  girl — just  a  girl ! — whose  face  he 
knew  but  who  did  not  know  him;  a  girl  who  would 
naturally  regard  him  as  a  hated  outlander.  He  was 
not  framing  the  words  he  would  use,  but  was  content, 
in  his  appreciation  of  the  diversion  of  any  surprise, 
to  leave  the  details  to  the  event's  making — a  square- 
shouldered,  clear-eyed  traveller  with  a  boy's  heart, 
an  honest  man's  candor,  and  a  vagabond's  humor  that 
makes  courage  seem  a  part  of  the  play.  His  was 
more  than  the  glorious  illusion  of  youth;  he  had  a 
way  of  making  his  dreams  come  true. 

The  directions  how  to  reach  his  destination  met 
all  the  demands  of  poetic  justice  for  such  an  enter- 
prise. He  was  told  that  he  need  only  keep  on  until  he 
came  to  the  great  house,  for  there  was  none  other  on 
the  road.  When  it  seemed  to  him,  as  he  reckoned 
distance,  that  he  must  be  near  his  goal,  the  low  tu- 
mult of  horses'  hoofs  broke  the  silence.  He  looked 
across  the  fields  to  see  a  man  and  a  woman  mounted 
approaching  a  fence  at  the  gallop.  The  woman  led, 
and  she  took  it  first,  clearing  it  by  a  wider  space  than 
the  man.  This  was  a  spectacle  quite  new  to  the  Vaga- 
bond. 

"That's  something  like !  That's  my  kind  of  a  girl!" 
he  thought;  and  he  had  the  impulse  to  try  a  fence 
himself,  then  and  there. 

Keeping  up  their  furious  pace,  the  man  becoming 
a  worse  and  worse  second,  the  riders  soon  disap- 
peared from  view.  When  he  reached  the  rising 
ground  that  had  hidden  them,  they  were  just  passing 

164 


THE    VAGABOND 

under  the  trees  which  held  the  Lanley  house  in  se- 
clusion. Then  he  berated  his  dull  perception  and 
congratulated  himself  at  the  same  time. 

"Of  course  it's  she!"  he  informed  himself,  glee- 
fully. "If  I  had  a  good  horse  she  wouldn't  have  to 
wait  so  long." 

It  was  well  that  he  did  not  have  a  good  horse,  else 
he  would  have  been  face  to  face  with  an  amazed 
young  woman  without  any  excuse  for  his  presence; 
and  he  had  nursed  that  excuse  carefully.  As  it  was, 
he  kept  his  pace  until  he  was  opposite  the  drive  and 
completely  hidden  from  the  house.  Having  dis- 
mounted for  a  moment  and  secured  himself  as  the 
most  reasonable  of  callers,  he  proceeded  up  the  drive- 
way, bearing  his  sesame  in  his  whip-hand. 

When  the  foliage  no  longer  screened  it,  he  saw 
that  a  group  on  the  porch  was  composed  solely  of  Mr. 
Lanley,  Mrs.  Bulwer  and  her  son,  who  had  been 
Volilla's  companion  on  the  ride.  This  did  not  dis- 
may him  so  far  as  she  of  his  heart's  desire  was  con- 
cerned, for  he  took  it  for  granted  that  she  had  gone 
to  change  her  gown.  The  others,  however,  were  in 
the  way;  indeed,  the  story  might  not  be  told  at  all 
in  their  presence. 

At  sight  of  a  stranger,  the  old  man  rose,  bowed, 
and  bade  him  a  most  hospitable  good-morning. 

"I  find  myself  in  something  of  a  predicament,"  the 
Vagabond  said.  "My  horse  has  cast  a  shoe;  and 
rather  than  lame  him,  I  am  going  to  ask  your  smith 
to  set  it." 


165 


XIX 

THE    SHADOW   OF   WAS, 

"Certainly,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Lanley.  "Under  the  cir- 
cumstances I  should  feel  that  you  had  done  very  ill 
indeed  if  you  had  not  stopped.  You  will  rest,  and  we 
shall  have  your  company,  sir,  in  the  meanwhile." 

"I  seem  to  have  a  wise  horse,  in  that  he  chose  so  hos- 
pitable a  neighborhood  for  the  accident,"  the  guest  re- 
marked, as  he  dismounted. 

It  did  not  occur  to  Mr.  Lanley  to  give  his  own  name, 
for  he  could  not  conceive  of  anybody  getting  so  far 
into  Virginia  without  knowing  it. 

"I  take  it  that  you  are  a  stranger,  sir,"  he  suggested, 
as  he  led  the  way  up  the  steps. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  yes.  My  name  is  Williams, 
and  I  am  from  California." 

Affably  and  simply,  yet  without  any  suggestion  in 
manner  that  their  association  would  be  more  than 
temporary,  Mr.  Lanley  introduced  the  new-comer  to 
Mrs.  Bulwer  and  her  son.  We  have  already  seen  the 
portraits  of  these  two  as  they  appeared  in  the  Senate 
gallery  on  the  day  of  the  inauguration.  It  is  high 
time  that  we  should  know  more  of  them.  Mrs.  Bul- 
wer, strictly  Virginian,  was  an  aunt  who  had  taken 
the  place  of  a  mother  to  Volilla.  When  the  new  mis- 
tress of  Lanleyton  had  arrived,  Richard  was  away  at 
West  Point.  His  letters  were  the  stars  of  his  moth- 

166 


THE  VAGABOND 

er's  night;  his  home-comings  her  only  season  of  day- 
light. Her  increasing  age  at  length  had  led  him  to  re- 
sign from  his  beloved  artillery  to  take  charge  of  the 
plantation,  which  sadly  needed  a  master.  Thus  the 
family  group  was  complete — an  elderly  brother  and 
sister  and  two  young  cousins — separated  only  by  the 
two  miles  that  lay  between  their  houses.  Richard 
came  to  Lanleyton  every  day  when  Yolilla  was  not 
with  her  aunt,  and  every  day  witnessed  such  a  dashing 
return  from  a  ride  as  had  whipped  the  blood  in  the 
Vagabond's  veins  on  his  approach.  Her  horse  was 
one  piece  of  extravagance,  one  proof  of  his  adoration, 
for  which  the  grandfather  was  forgiven,  with  soft 
arms  encircling  his  neck.  In  the  spring  of  '59  he  re- 
turned from  a  visit  to  Richmond  with  a  thorough-bred 
that  he  had  bought  after  spirited  bidding  over  the  head 
of  a  wealthy  tobacco  merchant. 

"Not  a  word  as  to  the  price,  my  dear,"  he  begged. 
"It's  fit  that  the  finest  girl  in  Virginia — a  girl  who 
knows  how  to  ride — should  have  the  finest  horse  in 
Virginia.  Would  to  God  that  my  bones  were  twenty 
years  younger  and  I  had  one  like  him  to  keep  you 
company!  Pooh!  I'd  show  Richard  how  to  take  a 
six-barred  gate!" 

She  made  the  hunter  the  more  cherished  by  christ- 
ening him  "Folly."  The  comment  ran  that  if  Folly 
were  ill,  his  mistress  was;  if  lame,  she  did  not  sleep  for 
worrying.  He  took  the  place  of  winters  in  Richmond 
and  Washington  and  of  a  tour  abroad,  which  had  once 
been  an  indispensable  part  of  a  Lanley's  education. 

Of  the  lady  who  rode  Folly,  Richard  had  once 
given,  in  a  bantering  rally,  this  judicial  opinion:  - 

"You  have  a  skittish  humor  that  does  not  balk  at 
167 


fHE    VAGABOND 

the  unusual,"  he  told  her.  "You  have  all  the  loyalty 
of  a  Scotsman  to  his  clan.  Your  love  of  out-door  sports 
is  a  masculine  delight.  You  are  deeper  than  you 
think,  as  a  crisis  might  show,  and  you  are  always 
charming — always,  even  when  you  are  prejudiced." 

"So  you  say!  And  your  pulse  never  varies,  dear 
Richard,"  she  replied.  "If  a  mine  should  explode  in 
the  yard  this  minute,  you  would  calmly  brush  the  dust 
from  your  clothes  and  estimate  the  amount  of  powder 
in  the  charge.  You  are  so  eminently  just  that  you 
would  sentence  yourself  to  jail,  mention  all  mitigat- 
ing circumstances,  and  bail  yourself  out,  in  the  full 
consciousness  of  having  done  a  friend  a  favor.  There's 
nothing  you  need  so  much  as  a  little  prejudice  to 
give  you  seasoning.  Besides,  if  you  had  as  fast  a 
horse  as  I  have,  you'd  have  a  different  set  of  opin- 
ions." 

Whatever  miserable  half-hours  Bulwer  may  have 
had  in  his  own  room  when  he  looked  in  the  depths  of 
his  heart  and  realized  what  was  fastened  there,  in  her 
presence  he  never  allowed  his  feelings  to  exceed  mere 
cousinly  camaraderie.  He  was  her  big  chum,  a  privi- 
lege not  to  be  risked  lightly;  her  big  chum  he  pro- 
posed to  remain. 

Not  so  Lieutenant  Jefferson  Southbridge,  another 
frequent  visitor  to  Lanleyton,  who  was  stationed  in 
Washington.  Southbridge  was  born  for  a  sensational 
existence.  The  regularity  of  army  life  in  time  of 
peace  only  conserved  an  energy  which  would  break 
forth  the  more  violently  when  opportunity  came.  You 
must  turn  to  his  ancestors  for  a  shadowy  explanation 
of  4his  Puritan  and  cavalier  in  one ;  this  gay  and  pro- 
digiously solemn,  this  reckless  and  dramaticaHy  ear- 

168 


THE  VAGABOND 

nest,  this  austere  and  vain,  over-dressed  young  man, 
who  read  his  Bible  diligently  and  thrummed  Spanish 
tunes  on  a  guitar.  His  mother  had  been  the  daughter 
of  a  rigidly  orthodox,  sourly  priggish  pastor;  his  fath- 
er, the  over-wild  son  of  a  wild,  hard-drinking,  grace- 
fully swearing  planter,  the  pair  making  a  sensational 
runaway  match.  In  after  years  the  father  had  turned 
to  religion,  and  the  mother  had  become  a  famous  gos- 
sip and  married  flirt  in  Richmond,  whose  weakness 
was  over-dress,  and  who  died  from  exposing  herself 
in  a  ball-gown. 

Southbridge's  heart  was  no  sooner  affected  than  he 
laid  it  all  palpitating  on  his  sleeve  for  my  lady  to  look 
at.  Rebuffs  were  no  more  to  his  impetuous  soul  than 
the  mile-stones  on  a  journey.  He  had  proposed  to  Vo- 
lilla  half  a  dozen  times  and  he  was  bound  to  keep  on 
proposing.  On  the  morning  that  the  Vagabond  rode 
up  the  drive  at  Lanleyton,  the  dislike  of  a  third  person 
in  the  party  was  not  the  sole  cause  that  restrained 
him  from  joining  Richard  and  Volilla  in  their  dash 
across  the  fields.  For  weeks  past  he  had  been  going 
at  once  gayly  and  devoutly  to  war  for  a  principle,  and 
this  morning  he  had  ridden  to  the  railroad  station  for 
the  latest  news  from  Charleston. 

The  Vagabond,  from  the  moment  that  he  noted  the 
absence  of  the  one  person  whom  he  had  come  to  see, 
was  in  the  sway  of  a  great  fear.  Suppose  that  she  did 
not  appear  at  all?  Could  he  ask  for  her?  Only  on 
the  ground  that  he  had  known  her  when  he  was  a  boy, 
and  that  was  more  than  making  confession.  It  was 
taking  the  key-stone  and  the  base-stones  out  of  his 
plan,  which  was,  first,  to  know  if  she  would  recognize 
him,  and,  second,  once  old  acquaintance  was  remem- 

169 


THE    VAGABOND 

bered,  to  tell  his  story  with  only  one  pair  of  ears  in 
hearing. 

"From  California?  Really!"  said  Mrs.  Bulwer. 
"Did  you  look  for  gold?" 

"Yes,  and  found  a  little,"  he  replied,  smiling. 

Mrs.  Bulwer  was  gently  sceptical  as  well  as  curious. 
Her  idea  of  miners  had  been  of  "pardners"  in  sombre- 
ros and  open-throated  shirts  and  high  boots,  as  pict- 
ured in  the  few  wood-cuts  of  contemporary  life  which 
then  carried  information  and  misinformation  to  the 
four  corners  of  the  earth. 

"How  does  California  stand  on  the  question  of  se- 
cession?" Mr.  Lanley  asked. 

"As  a  rule,  the  Californians  I  know  are  for  the 
Union,"  was  the  reply. 

Mr.  Lanley  lowered  his  iron-gray  brows  angrily; 
his  black  eyes  snapped.  He  started  as  if  to  make  a 
vehement  denial.  But  he  was  a  host,  a  Virginia  host. 

"Oh,  indeed,  sir !"  he  said,  politely  if  pointedly. 

"I  knew  several  army  officers  who  were  in  Califor- 
nia," Bulwer  interjected,  diplomatically.  "One  was 
Captain  'Bob'  Herrick,  an  old  fellow  whom  I  saw  a  lot 
of  in  Mexico.  I  heard  that  he  adopted  a  runaway  boy. 
I  could  quite  imagine  him  doing  such  a  thing.  He 
was  splendid,  splendid!" 

"Oh,  yes.    I've  seen  him — a — number  of  times." 

This  was  what  the  Vagabond  said,  resisting  tempta- 
tion. He  appreciated  how  easy  it  would  be  by  defin- 
ing his  relations  to  the  Captain  exactly  and  mention- 
ing a  certain  army  post  to  make  himself  a  guest  long 
enough  to  assure  a  meeting  with  the  one  whom  he  had 
come  to  see.  But  he  refused  to  play  his  fancy  false. 
He  did  not  want  to  be  introduced  or  explained  to  her. 

170 


He  must  come  to  her  on  this  first  occasion  literally  out 
of  the  blue. 

"And  did  he  do  well,  he  and  the  boy?  Tell  me 
more  about  him — splendid  old  'Bob'  Herrick!" 

Even  Mrs.  Bulwer  elevated  her  brows  to  find  her 
placid  son  so  adjectively  enthusiastic  about  anything. 

"Very — both  he  and  the  boy,"  was  the  response. 
"He  is  in  Washington  now,  waiting  on  the  orders  of 
General  Scott  in  case  the  country  needs  his  services." 

While  he  spoke  the  Vagabond  was  looking  toward 
the  stable,  fearing  the  approach  of  his  horse  and  pray- 
ing that  the  smith  would  be  dilatory. 

"Oh,  he  is!"  Bulwer  answered,  thoughtfully. 

"It  is  scarcely  comprehensible,  yet  it  is  true,"  Mr. 
Lanley  put  in,  savagely,  "that  General  Scott,  now 
arming  an  invading  force  against  us,  is  a  Virginian; 
yes,  a  Virginian,  sir!" 

"That  is  true,"  said  the  Vagabond,  realizing  how 
differently  a  piece  of  information  sounded  on  the 
southern  side  of  the  Potomac.  "Judging  by  the  vigor- 
ous manner  in  which  two  riders  disappeared  under 
your  trees  there  as  I  came  in  sight  of  the  house,  it  is 
a  proud  thing  to  have  been  born  in  Virginia." 

"Volilla!  Ah,  you  saw  Volilla  on  Folly!"  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Lanley,  politics  all  forgotten,  the  gouty 
twinge  passing,  the  very  mention  of  his  idol  being  like 
the  bouquet  of  a  vintage  to  an  epicurean  nostril. 

There  was  a  rustle  of  skirts  in  the  hall,  which  bore 
sweeter  message  than  the  courier  from  a  victorious 
field  to  an  emperor's  ears.  The  Vagabond's  journey 
was  not  in  vain;  he  was  not  to  be  cheated  of  his  object. 
She  stood  before  him.  His  faculties  were  superbly 
acute,  yet  benumbed  as  by  the  pricking  of  thousands 

171 


THE    VAGABOND 

of  joyful  needles.  Men  falling  great  distances  are  said 
to  have  supernatural  facility  of  sight  and  thought; 
why  should  not  those  rising  to  heaven  in  the  moment 
long  dreamed  of  and  conjured  with?  For  the  first 
time  since  he  had  crossed  his  heart  and  hoped  to  die 
that  he  would  not  rob  birds'  nests,  he  was  face  to  face 
and  speaking  with  the  realized  image  of  his  fancy. 
Every  detail  of  the  glowing  picture  in  the  frame  of 
the  doorway  charmed  his  senses  as  he  rose  from  his 
seat.  She  had  changed  her  gown  for  one  that  showed 
the  house,  the  soft,  the  feminine  side  of  her  nature, 
even  as  the  riding-habit  showed  the  healthy,  the  dar- 
ing, the  romping,  the  free,  the  buoyant  side.  At 
home  she  had  dared  to  disregard  the  outlandish  coif- 
fure of  the  time.  A  big  braid  doubled  in  at  the  back 
took  its  place.  Abundantly,  with  the  sheen  and  color 
of  the  chestnut  fresh  from  the  burr,  her  hair  rose  from 
the  temples  in  a  crest  that  played  with  the  soft  sun- 
light as  a  royal  mate.  In  the  Senate  gallery  her 
beauty  had  been  stricken  as  a  painting  may  be  with 
an  unsuitable  frame.  Here  it  was  free  and  natural, 
from  brow  to  open-throated  gown. 

He  heard  Mr.  Lanley  saying,  "My  granddaughter" 
and  "Mr.  Williams,  of  California,"  etc.  He  had 
no  illusions  that  he  was  anything  more.  His  face,  he 
realized  in  swift  definiteness,  had  called  to  her  mem- 
ory no  incident  of  a  meeting  with  an  odd  little  boy  on 
the  bank  of  a  New  England  creek. 

As  the  touch  of  her  fingers  to  his  in  their  stereo- 
typed greeting  went  thrilling  to  his  head,  he  wished 
for  nothing  so  much  as  that  three  or  four  superfluous 
persons  might  be  transported  out  of  sight  and  hear- 
ing. He  was  in  the  flood  of  a  mood  to  make  eloquent 

172 


THE  VAGABOND 

that  story  which  he  had  to  tell  her.  But  the  company 
was  to  be  increased  rather  than  diminished.  All  had 
turned  to  look  in  the  direction  of  the  road  whence 
came  the  sound  of  a  horseman  approaching  at  the 
gallop. 

"Southbridge,  of  course,"  said  Bulwer.  "I  fancy 
he  has  big  news." 

The  garb  of  no  Calif  ornian  could  be  more  ridiculous 
to  a  Virginian  than  that  of  the  man  who  burst  from 
under  the  trees  was  to  the  Vagabond.  He  wore  a 
large  blue  sash,  falling  from  his  waist  in  tasselled 
ends,  high  cavalry-man's  boots,  a  gray  uniform  glit- 
tering with  brass  buttons,  while  he  swung  over  his 
head  a  soft  hat  surmounted  by  a  long  ostrich  plume. 

"It's  begun!  It's  begun!  We're  bombarding 
Sumter!"  he  shouted. 

"Glorious!  glorious!"  Volilla  cried,  gliding  past  the 
others  to  the  steps. 

"High  time!"  growled  Mr.  Lanley,  who  had  long 
ago  worn  out  his  enthusiasm  in  disgust  over  the  dila- 
toriness  of  his  State. 

Bulwer  said  nothing. 

Southbridge  threw  himself  from  the  saddle  with  a 
cavalry-man's  abandon.  He  raised  his  hat  again. 

"I  told  you  I'd  bring  the  news  first,"  he  said. 
"What  do  you  think  of  my  new  uniform?  I've  had  it 
ready  for  a  month,  and  I  stopped  only  long  enough  at 
Leggat's  to  put  it  on.  These  spurs" — he  turned  a  heel 
to  show  them — "are  old  Spanish  and  solid  silver.  I'm 
going  to  organize  five  companies  of  cavalry,  so  I'm  a 
colonel  now — Colonel  of  the  Virginia  Firsts,  if  you 
please,  ladies  and  gentlemen."  He  bowed  again. 

"Bravo!"  cried  Volilla,  not  with  respect  to  his  garb, 
173 


THE    VAGABOND 

but  for  his  enthusiasm  for  the  cause.  "I  have  some- 
thing for  you — a  reward."  With  that  she  hastened 
back  into  the  house. 

At  first  glance  it  was  difficult  to  know  whether 
Southbridge  took  himself  seriously  or  not.  The  flash 
of  his  eye  when  he  saw  the  stranger's  lips  twitching 
with  amusement  was  proof  that  he  did.  Quick  in  his 
likes  and  dislikes,  from  that  moment  he  counted  the 
Vagabond  an  enemy. 

No  one  could  deny  that  the  man's  musketeer  garb 
became  him.  He  was  uncommonly  tall,  with  a 
straight  nose,  black,  curling  hair,  and  a  full,  wavy 
beard  which  did  not  belie  his  youth  but  rather  im- 
pressed it  upon  the  beholder.  His  face  had  the  con- 
trast to  Bulwer's  of  sensation  to  moderation.  Bulwer 
had  the  Lanley  nose,  with  the  thin,  high  cartilage 
bending  with  a  thorough-bred  curve  to  the  finely  chis- 
elled nostrils.  His  full  forehead,  his  square  yet  well- 
rounded  chin,  his  reposeful  mouth — every  feature 
was  lacking  in  the  extravagance  which  accentuated 
the  features  of  the  younger  officer. 

"Are  you  going  to  carry  that  guitar  of  yours  slung 
over  your  back  when  you  make  a  charge,  Jefferson?" 
asked  Bulwer,  pleasantly. 

"If  you  join  my  command  I  shall  need  a  little  mu- 
sic to  offset  that  solemn  face  of  yours." 

Volilla  now  reappeared  in  the  door-way  in  smiling 
triumph  as  she  shook  out  the  folds  of  a  silk  State  flag, 
whose  floating  end  fell  about  Southbridge's  feet. 

"I  made  it  with  my  own  hands,  and  I'll  embroider 
it  with  the  name  of  the  Virginia  Firsts — the  first  Vir- 
ginians to  draw  the  sword  for  our  rights,"  she  said. 

Southbridge  swept  the  floor  of  the  porch  with  his 
174 


THE  VAGABOND 

plume,  his  other  hand  on  his  heart,  and  bowed  as  low 
as  his  waist. 

"God  is  with  us,"  he  said.  "With  His  blessing, 
with  right  on  our  side,  the  sons  of  Virginia  will  send 
the  whining  Yankees  back  to  their  shops.  Aye,  with 
my  own  hand  I  will  raise  this  flag  on  the  Capitol  at 
Washington,  where,  in  a  month's  time,  we  shall  dic- 
tate our  terms  of  peace." 

The  Vagabond  was  not  looking  at  the  man  but  at 
the  girl,  whose  face,  lighted  with  purpose  and  enthu- 
siasm, fascinated  him.  For  the  first  but  by  no  means 
the  last  time,  he  found  himself  wishing  that  he  might 
meet  Southbridge  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice;  for  al- 
ready he  had  begun  to  realize  that  back  of  this  strange 
man's  vainglory  and  boasting  there  was  the  genuine 
ability  which  makes  enmity  worth  while. 

Having  laid  the  flag  over  a  chair  caressingly,  with 
words  of  admiration  for  the  needle-work,  the  plumed 
messenger  turned  toward  his  rival  in  sarcasm  as 
pointed  as  the  ends  of  his  mustache. 

"Well,  Bulwer,  are  you  for  Virginia  or  against 
her?  You  can't  be  a  peace-at-any-price  man  much 
longer." 

"I  don't  see  anything  to  shout  over  in  the  prospect 
of  shooting  at  the  officers  I  have  fought  with  and  at 
the  flag  I  have  fought  under,"  Bulwer  replied,  good- 
humoredly.  "Still,  when  it  comes  to  war,  I  may  lay 
on  as  heavy  blows  as  you.  And  we  shall  need  heavy 
blows.  We  shall  not  be  in  Washington  in  a  month; 
oh,  not  in  a  month,  Jefferson." 

"Cousin,  did  our  forefathers  wait?"  Volilla  had 
stepped  nearer  to  Bulwer  and  she  spoke  passionately. 
"Did  sentiment  forever  attach  them  to  the  British 

175 


THE  VAGABOND 

flag  when  they  were  wronged  under  it?  Didn't  they 
go  to  their  work  with  a  cheer  and  a  whole  heart? 
Come,  you  are  a  Virginian!" 

"Yes,  so  you  should  go  once  you  start.  Perhaps  if 
you  had  been  a  foreign  attache  as  I  have  and  knew 
as  I  do  that  Europe  would  like  nothing  better  than  to 
see  us  split  up  into  tribes  like  the  Indians,  you  might 
regard  it  as  a  necessity  but  not  as  a  source  of  joy  that 
the  United  States  should  be  cut  in  two.  My  State  has 
paid  its  share  toward  my  education  at  West  Point  and 
toward  maintaining  me  in  the  army.  It  played  the 
greatest  part  of  all  the  colonies  in  winning  for  each 
one  its  freedom.  Now  it  must  fight  again,  not  against 
a  king  but  against  a  Northern  majority  who  would 
make  us  a  minority  without  representation.  The 
Southern  clime  wants  only  to  keep  its  sunlight,  as  it 
ever  has.  The  North  will  be  the  invader.  When  the 
first  Union  soldier  sets  foot  on  the  soil  of  Virginia, 
then  every  Virginian  with  a  drop  of  red  blood  in  his 
veins  must  resist  or  hold  out  his  hand  to  the  burglar 
that  is  climbing  in  at  his  window." 

"Good,  good!  I  knew  you  would!"  She  sat  down 
on  the  arm  of  his  chair  in  a  most  cousinly  fashion. 
"I'll  make  a  flag  for  you  and  bind  it  with  gold  cord 
and  embroider  something  on  it  about  the  rejoicing 
over  the  one  sinner  who  repenteth." 

Only  such  news  as  Southbridge  had  brought,  only 
such  a  crisis,  could  have  made  the  actors  in  this  scene 
so  oblivious  to  the  presence  of  a  stranger.  The  Vaga- 
bond realized  into  what  a  different  world  a  few  hours' 
ride  might  take  a  traveller  in  his  own  country.  To 
them  the  North  was  a  monster,  stealing  the  fire  from 
their  hearth-stones,  the  meat  from  their  larders.  Mr. 

176 


THE    VAGABOND 

Lanley,  the  more  so  in  that  he  had  tried  spasmodically 
to  mend  his  extravagant  ways,  blamed  his  bankruptcy 
on  the  Government  rather  than  on  economic  change. 
Volilla,  now  aware  of  their  straits,  had  come  into 
womanhood  with  an  intensity  of  affection  for  all  the 
acres  and  buildings  that  were  the  Lanleys'  own,  not  ex- 
ceeded by  the  founder  of  the  house.  It  was  she  who 
turned  to  the  Vagabond,  aflame  with  patriotism,  and 
bending  toward  him  in  a  transport  of  interest  and 
anxiety  as  to  his  answer  to  the  question,  asked: 

"How  is  California  going,  sir?    With  us?" 

"No,  I  think  it  is  for  the  Union." 

She  stiffened  in  amazement.  There  was  scepticism 
of  the  truth  of  his  reply  in  the  changed  expression  of 
her  eyes,  though  she  did  not  give  it  word. 

"Indeed!    And  how  do  you  stand?" 

In  his  disgust,  Southbridge  was  guilty  of  pressing  a 
stranger  with  this  direct  question. 

For  the  first  time,  the  Vagabond  had  a  partisan 
view  of  the  impending  conflict.  He  had  only  to  look 
at  Volilla  to  know  that  a  word  could  make  her  a  friend 
or  an  enemy.  As  an  ally,  he  had  a  footing;  as  an  ad- 
versary, the  Potomac  was  as  broad  as  the  Milky  Way. 
He  felt  that  he  would  be  grime  under  her  feet  if  he 
dodged  the  issue;  he  felt,  too,  a  pleasure  in  giving 
Southbridge  a  clear  answer ;  a  pleasure,  also,  in  rais- 
ing another  obstacle  which  it  would  be  his  delight  to 
overcome. 

"I  only  wish,"  he  said,  "that  there  was  a  mountain 
so  high  that  from  it  you  could  see  from  the  Atlantic  to 
the  Pacific,  and  that  every  man  and  woman  in  the 
United  States,  both  North  and  South,  could  get  out 
of  the  dust  of  township  roads  and  the  mists  of  low- 

177 


THE    VAGABOND 

lands  and  climb  to  the  summit  and  see  how  nature 
has  bounded  our  country  by  seas  and  rivers  and  lakes 
and  meant  it  to  be  one  and  undivided." 

"Aye,  aye!"  said  Bulwer. 

"I  only  wish  that,  condoning  each  other's  faults, 
the  South  could  know  the  North  and  the  North  could 
know  the  South  as  brothers  and  partners  should  know 
each  other." 

"So  do  I  wish  it!"  Bulwer  had  lifted  himself  in 
his  chair.  His  fine,  calm  face  was  alight  with  the  ab- 
straction of  the  Vagabond's  idea,  and  the  glances  of 
the  two  men  met  in  the  steady  gaze  of  mutual  under- 
standing and  admiration. 

"Bah!"  Southbridge  tossed  the  word  out  con- 
temptuously. ""Weep  awhile,  Dicky." 

"Yes,  I  have  only  to  look  at  you,  Jefferson,"  Bul- 
wer continued,  "to  know  how  impossible  is  our 
dream." 

Southbridge  made  a  movement  toward  Bulwer; 
but  Bulwer,  falling  back  into  his  easy  attitude,  only 
smiled  masterfully. 

"I  had  not  finished,"  the  Vagabond  ventured.  "I 
wish  to  say  that  if  war  is  to  come,  I  am  for  the  Union 
with  all  my  heart." 

His  little  speech  was  followed  by  a  moment's  burst- 
ing silence ;  and  if  Bulwer  had  not  supplied  the  word 
to  prick  it,  the  coming  of  a  horse  from  the  stable 
would.  With  a  flattering  glance  he  regarded  the 
firm  chin  _of  the  Vagabond  and  the  erect  torso 
poised  on  the  edge  of  the  chair,  and  said  lightly  to 
Southbridge : 

"You  see,  Jefferson,  as  I  have  always  maintained, 
we  shall  find  enemies  worthy  of  our  steel." 

178 


THE  VAGABOND 

"To  spit  on  it!"  rejoined  Southbridge,  hotly. 

"Gentlemen!  gentlemen!"  Mr.  Lanley  could  never 
allow  his  prejudices  to  usurp  his  hospitality.  "Each 
for  his  side,  and  settle  your  arguments  in  the  field  and 
not  on  the  porch.  Mr.  Williams,  you  are  to  be  praised 
for  your  candor." 

"Yes,  and  whatever  else  this  war  between  fellow- 
countrymen  is  to  be,  it  ought  to  be  impersonal,"  Bul- 
wer  added. 

Meanwhile  the  Vagabond  had  not  ceased  to  watch 
the  play  of  emotion  on  Volilla's  face.  Her  expression 
was  one  of  incomprehension  of  how  anyone  who 
seemed  fair-minded  and  fair-spoken  should  take  the 
side  of  the  North.  When  he  heard  hoofs  crunch- 
ing on  the  gravel  it  was  a  signal  which,  in  the 
strained  situation,  he  could  not  well  disregard.  He 
had  it  in  mind  to  ask  her  to  recall  the  small  boy  who 
once  caught  a  butterfly  for  her,  but  his  old  aversion  to 
any  except  a  fair  opportunity,  when  he  should  tell  his 
whole  story,  prevailed.  While  two  emblems  of  re- 
strained indignation  flamed  on  her  cheek,  she  took  his 
hand,  smiling  dutifully  as  a  hostess. 

"A  pleasant  journey!"  she  said. 

"You  say  that  to  an  enemy!"  he  exclaimed,  lightly. 

"When  he  is  going  out  of  Virginia;  a  short  and  an 
unpleasant  one  to  the  invader." 

Her  reply  gave  him  pleasure.  It  was  still  another 
proof  that  the  girl  of  his  fancy  grown  woman  was 
worthy  of  his  conception.  He  knew  nothing  in  the 
world  so  well  at  that  moment  as  that  he  loved  her. 

Finally,  when  he  had  paid  his  respects  to  Mrs.  Bul- 
wer  and  expressed  his  thanks  to  all  for  their  tolerance 
for  an  adversary  as  well  as  their  direct  kindness  to  him, 

179 


THE  VAGABOND 

he  offered  his  hand  to  Southbridge,  who  had  been 
standing  by,  silent  and  lowering,  pulling  at  his  mus- 
tache and  fondly  regarding  its  silken  ends  with  down- 
ward glances. 

"Ceremonies  are  unnecessary,  sir,"  he  growled. 

"I  thought  you  liked  them."  The  Vagabond  could 
not  resist  the  goad,  and  he  continued  to  smile  as  he 
spoke. 

Southbridge  raised  his  glove  as  if  he  would  strike 
the  Northerner  in  the  face,  but  lowered  it  and  turned 
on  his  heel. 

"I  trust  that  we  shall  meet  again  where  there  are 
no  ladies  present,"  he  called,  after  the  Vagabond  was 
mounted. 

"My  dear  sir,  if  we  do  I  assure  you  that  I  shall  not 
be  frightened  away  by  the  waving  of  your  plume  or 
the  jingling  of  your  spurs." 

On  his  way  back  to  Alexandria  the  Vagabond  both 
smiled  and  scowled.  He  smiled  broadly  over  South- 
bridge's  uniform ;  he  smiled  raptly  over  new  obstacles, 
having  nothing  to  do  with  a  mine,  a  mountain,  or  war, 
which  he  must  overcome;  he  scowled  over  the  ameni- 
ties of  sectionalism  that  might  influence  purely  per- 
sonal relations. 

"I  shall  see  her  again  soon,"  he  said,  and  tossed  his 
head  and  whistled. 


XX 

WITH    EVEET    MAN^S    DUTY    PLAI1T 

A  set  speech  by  the  Judge  always  mustered  all  the 
devotees  of  oratory  within  the  radius  of  a  day's  com- 
fortable drive.  His  subject  on  this  Tuesday  follow- 
ing the  fall  of  Sumter  was  a  magnet  no  less  than 
curiosity  to  know  how  the  leading  Democrat  and  most 
popular  citizen  of  the  county  stood  on  the  issue  that 
a  cannon-shot  had  precipitated.  To  all  men,  though 
they  had  talked  for  months  of  the  eventuality,  the 
news  came  as  a  family  disaster  that  should  be  dis- 
cussed in  family  council,  in  the  court-house  square; 
for  the  town-meeting  instinct  was  still  strong  in  the 
land. 

So  they  came  charging  "On  to  Richmond"  as  fast 
as  their  horses  could  bring  them;  more  than  one  sheep- 
ish-looking fellow  with  a  woman  in  the  buggy  beside 
him  who,  willy  nilly,  was  going  to  see  that  her  hus- 
band, brother,  or  son  did  not  enlist.  Never  in  all  the 
times  that  the  Judge  had  stood  on  the  stone  steps  had 
he  been  so  rhetorical  or  so  eloquent  in  his  convincing 
loyalty  to  the  flag  as  in  his  bold  front  to  any  man  or 
set  of  men  who  fired  on  it.  He  had  the  audience  at  a 
fever  heat  of  palpitation.  The  sentences  of  his  per- 
oration were  following  one  another  in  rhythmic  poise, 
when  suddenly  he  paused,  as  if  memory  were  at  fault 

181 


THE    VAGABOND 

or  lie  was  transfixed  by  some  thought  not  rehearsed  in 
his  study,  and  then  continued  in  a  conversational  tone 
of  rare  force,  addressed  to  each  hearer,  personally: 

""We  have  no  regular  army  of  account.  Our  fore- 
fathers fought  for  a  country  not  to  be  ruled  by  bayo- 
nets, uniforms,  or  a  privileged  class.  On  that  stake, 
Washington,  the  richest  man  in  America,  risked  his 
all.  They  gave  each  of  us  an  equal  proprietary  right 
in  the  Government  which  individual  success  or  influ- 
ence could  not  assault.  If  this  experiment  among  na- 
tions was  endangered,  they  depended  upon  the  virile 
manhood  and  the  moral  gratitude  and  appreciative 
self-respect  of  the  citizen  to  fly  to  its  defence.  The 
hour  of  peril  is  here.  The  hour  is  here  when  every 
man,  however  rich,  however  poor,  must  follow  the 
example  of  Washington;  when  he  must  leave  the  com- 
forts and  the  benefices  that  the  sacrifices  of  his  sires 
assured  and  place  his  life  at  the  call  of  that  flag 
which  embodies  his  sacred  privilege  and  the  united 
people  whose  power  can  alone  protect  it;  land-owner 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  tenant,  scholar  with  the  un- 
lettered, in  the  common  cause  which  is  of  vital  per- 
sonal interest  to  each  of  us;  otherwise,  we  are  un- 
worthy of  our  heritage." 

His  words  were  so  sharp,  his  manner  so  mandatory, 
his  feeling  so  intense,  that  the  hush  of  thoughtfulness 
took  the  place  of  a  cheer,  except  for  one  drunken  man, 
Hosea  Pillsbury  by  name,  swaying  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  crowd,  who  called  in  a  thick  voice : 

"Shooray,  Jedge!  Pratish  what  you  preesh!  You 
got  no  fam'lysh;  why  donVsh  you  'listsh?  Why 
don't  you  go  fightsh  for  your  country  yourself sh? 
Ha!  ha!  Joksh!" 

182 


THE    VAGABOND 

Some  of  the  audience  hissed;  the  features  of  others 
worked  in  a  suppressed  smile.  All  were  amazed  to 
find  the  smartest  man  in  the  county  at  a  loss  for  a  re- 
ply. When  finally  it  came,  it  was  spoken  pleasantly, 
sweetly : 

"Such  is  the  republic,"  he  said,  "that  even  a  drunk- 
en man  may  show  a  sober  man  his  duty.  Thank  you, 
my  friend.  I  shall  enlist." 

The  crowd  made  a  path  for  him  in  wonder  as  he 
walked  not  to  the  enrolling  officer  of  the  infantry 
company,  but  to  him  of  the  First  Belmore  Cavalry, 
whose  captain  was  the  Vagabond;  first  lieutenant, 
Jimmy  Pool;  second  lieutenant,  Timothy  Booker — 
and  put  down  his  name  as  a  private. 

The  nephew  alone  was  not  astounded  by  the  Judge's 
action.  That  five  hundred  dollars  intrusted  to  Tim 
Booker  had  assured  him  long  ago  that  there  were 
deep  waters  under  the  Judge's  rhetoric.  Directly,  he 
found  himself  raised  over  the  heads  of  the  cheering 
crowd,  now  intoxicated  with  enthusiasm,  to  the  steps 
of  the  court-house,  where  he  rose  to  his  feet  with  shak- 
ing knees  under  the  fearful  fire  of  calls  for  a  speech. 

"All  I've  got  to  say,"  he  said,  "is  that  no  man  is 
good  enough  to  own  another  man,  and  if  we  let  any 
State  secede  when  it  has  a  grievance  we  sha'n't  have 
a  nation;  we  shall  have  only  a  disunion  of  griev- 
ances;" and  the  Vagabond  slipped  back  down  the  steps 
in  great  embarrassment. 

Nor  was  the  crowd  content  yet.  It  caught  sight  of 
the  white  hairs  of  the  arbiter  of  the  cavalry's  recruit- 
ing booth.  The  strong  hands  that  had  borne  the  Vag- 
abond aloft  now  made  fond  seizure  of  Captain  Her- 
rick,  who  was  at  once  embarrassed  and  belligerent. 

183 


THE  VAGABOND 

"Fellow-soldiers — er — fellow — citizens,"  lie  said, 
"the  talking's  over.  This  ain't  any  time  to  quote  long 
words  from  the  dictionary.  It's  time  to  fight  and  obey 
orders;  and  orders,  gentlemen,  orders  are  given,  sir, 
without  any  pretension  to  oratory,  sir.  We  want  all 
the  good  men,  all  the  men  that  don't  think  they  know 
it  all.  We  want  men  like  the  Judge  here — the  Judge 
who's  got  enough  learning  in  his  head  to  drown  me, 
sir — men  who  know  they've  got  a  big  job  on  hand  and 
they've  got  to  begin  at  the  primer  of  soldiering.  Any 
man  that's  just  thinking  how  pretty  he'll  look  in  his 
uniform,  and  how  the  girls'll  tease  him  for  brass  but- 
tons; any  man  that  thinks  he  hasn't  the  hardest  kind 
of  work  before  him  and  hardship  and  suffering  that 
makes  a  man  a  man — why,  we'll  give  him  his  belly- 
ache medicine  now  and  sit  him  on  the  hotel  porch 
where  his  criticism  of  his  superiors  won't  do  any  harm. 
Yes,  sir,  we'll  just  push  him  out  of  the  road  like  a 
stone  that  blocks  the  wheels.  Any  good  man  that 
stays  at  home,  I  hope  the  women  folks'll  make  him 
get  his  own  victuals  and  sew  on  his  own  pants 
buttons. 

"You  fellows  that  are  good  wrestlers  needn't  think 
that  any  rebel  is  going  to  wait  for  you  to  get  a  side 
hold  of  him.  The  fellow  wins  that  hits  the  other  first 
and  hardest — with  a  musket  ball,  sir,  not  a  putty  ball, 
sir.  To  lick  a  man  with  your  fists  you've  got  to  know 
how.  To  lick  him  in  war,  sir,  you've  got  to  know  how 

a  d d  sight  better.  The  only  way  to  know  how  is 

to  drill,  drill.  Drill  hard  and  fight  hard  and  we'll 
save  the  Union,  by  the  Eternal!" 

The  example  of  the  Bench  had  completed  the  roster 
of  the  infantry  company,  after  filling  the  vacant  places 

184 


THE  VAGABOND 

in  the  cavalry,  which  had  been  recruited  chiefly  of 
Californians  and  of  other  men  hardened  by  contact 
with  the  world  away  from  home,  who  had  appeared 
out  of  the  blue  as  a  result  of  a  line  in  the  New  York 
papers.  All  argument  to  persuade  the  Judge  to  accept 
a  discharge  failed.  He  was  adamant.  His  sole  re- 
quest was  that  the  drunkard,  Pillsbury,  should  be 
transferred  from  infantry  to  comradeship  with  one 
who  proposed  to  make  a  sober  and  useful  cavalry-man 
of  him. 

No  private  followed  the  directions  of  Drill-master 
Herrick  with  the  attention  of  the  eldest  and  most  cor- 
pulent trooper.  Not  until  the  morning  before  the  de- 
parture of  the  company  for  Washington  did  he  ask  for 
leave.  Then  he  "spruced"  his  new  uniform  before 
the  glass  in  his  living-room  that  adjoined  his  office  and 
proceeded  toward  the  Hope  house.  If  it  goes  without 
saying  that  his  sacrifice  of  position  made  the  sincerity 
of  his  enlistment  indubitable,  it  was  none  the  less  nat- 
ural that  he  should  have  fond  hopes  of  its  effect  in 
certain  quarters.  The  day  was  sunny,  and  Miss  Fe- 
licia happened  to  be  on  the  porch.  She  was  nettled  at 
sight  of  the  truant,  who  had  not  asked  her  advice  as 
to  his  course  or  even  come  to  explain  it  to  her. 

"Whose  orderly  are  you?"  she  asked. 

"Nobody's.    I'm  only  a  private  yet,"  he  replied. 

Instead  of  touching  it  in  military  fashion,  as  he  had 
intended,  he  lifted  the  little  fatigue  cap  that  sat  ridic- 
ulously on  his  high  brow,  whereupon  he  was  plunged 
in  doubt  as  to  whether  or  not  he  had  set  it  back  with 
the  proper  rake. 

"Oh,  indeed!" 

"What — what  do  you  think  of  my  uniform?" 
185 


THE    VAGABOND 

His  effort  to  ask  the  question  playfully  was  dismal, 
for  the  advantage  of  composure  was  now  on  her  side. 

"I  should  say  that  there  was  either  too  little  cloth 
or  too  much  man." 

"I — I  left  room  to — grow  smaller,  and  I  am  grow- 
ing— smaller;"  as  he  was  by  several  pounds,  thanks  to 
the  exercise  of  drilling. 

All  that  he  had  read  about  the  charm  of  brass  but- 
tons for  the  fair  sex  appealed  to  him  as  a  black  lie. 
He  dropped  to  the  steps,  his  dignity  gone. 

"Yes,"  she  observed,  "privates,  I  believe,  are  not 
supposed  to  sit  on  chairs." 

He  removed  that  little  fatigue  cap  altogether;  he 
mopped  his  brow. 

"I  saw  you  in  your  carriage  when  I  made  my 
speech.  What  did  you  think  of  it  ?"  he  asked,  finally, 
after  a  silence  that  was  torture  to  him,  but  seemed  to 
agree  with  her. 

"The  last  part  was  very  fine;  very  much  matter 
and  very  few  words." 

"Strange!  strange!  Thank  you.  And  the  part 
where  I  referred  to  the  Constitution  as  a  full-rigged 
ship?" 

"The  ship?  Oh,  yes.  Pretty  much  in  your  usual 
style." 

The  same  that  everybody  else  had  said.  There  had 
not  been  a  single  figure  in  that  impassioned  peroration 
that  had  taken  the  place  of  studied  pauses  and  ruined 
the  force  of  his  oration,  leaving  him  still  with  the 
feeling  of  one  who  has  broken  a  fine  piece  of  china. 
Why,  he  had  only  talked  as  he  would  to  a  friend  in  his 
office!  Strange,  strange! 

"I  see,"  he  said,  hopefully,  thinking  he  had  light. 
186 


THE  VAGABOND 

'Teople  liked  it  and  you  liked  it  because  I  practised 
what  I  preached." 

"Never!  never!"  she  replied,  decisively.  "The 
Judge  of  the  county  a  private !  Where  is  your  sense 
of  proportion  ?  Is  this  the  most  you,  with  your  educa- 
tion and  position  and — and  supposed  ability — can  do 
— to  carry  a  rifle;  not  even  raise  a  company?  I  hope 
you  will  recover  your  senses  yet.  There  is  still  time  to 
get  a  discharge." 

This  was  the  last  straw.  The  Judge  lost  his  tem- 
per. 

"I  propose  to  stick  to  my  resolution,  Miss  Hope," 
he  said,  dramatically,  as  he  rose  and  slapped  his  cap 
on  his  head  askew.  "Good-morning." 

"Good-morning,  Private  Williams!" 

With  his  hands  thrust  deep  into  his  pockets  and  his 
head  stubbornly  bent,  he  made  a  most  unmilitary  fig- 
ure, which  took  its  way  defiantly  out  of  the  yard. 

"I  didn't  know  he  could  be  so  gritty,"  she  remarked 
to  herself,  a  faint  smile  flickering  on  her  lips. 

The  next  day,  as  the  Belmore  cavalry  passed 
through  a  lane  of  bunting  and  cheers,  Trooper  Will- 
iams— Hosea  Pillsbury  at  his  elbow — saw  Felicia  wav- 
ing a  flag;  and  the  line  halting  for  a  second  as  he  was 
opposite  her  carriage,  he  heard  her  exclaim,  "Silly!" 
without  knowing  at  all  what  she  meant  by  that. 


187 


XXI 

TO    HEE   DOOR    BY   FORCE 

In  making  up  that  company  its  leader  selected  men 
•who,  primarily,  had  the  manner  and  the  reputation  of 
being  anything  but  quitters,  either  plain,  cheap,  or 
derned  cheap.  When  it  was  first  mustered  in  line, 
Drill-master  Herrick  described  the  assembled  hundred 
as  an  independent  lot  of  generals  acting  as  privates; 
but  he  thought  they'd  do  for  cavalry,  being  an  infan- 
try-man himself  and  secretly  disappointed  at  the  Vag- 
abond's choice  of  arm. 

Father  Bob  drilled  them  without  regard  to  whether 
their  shirt-backs  were  fast  dyed  or  not,  drilled  them 
until  they  knew  how  to  form  column  and  deploy  and 
that  their  Captain  was  "Sir"  and  not  "Cap"  or  even 
"Cap'n."  At  his  final  inspection  he  said  they  were 
like  baking-powder  bread — they'd  have  to  do  inas- 
much as  there  was  no  time  to  set  yeast.  With  this 
parting  ehot,  the  old  man  passed  on,  by  General 
Scott's  order,  to  assist  a  West  Point  cadet  in  disciplin- 
ing a  green  regiment  of  infantry;  for  in  that  time 
anyone  who  knew  the  manual  of  arms  found  himself 
a  power  in  the  land,  and  the  brilliant  young  orator  in 
the  late  elections  took  lessons  from  a  private  of  regu- 
lars. 

If  the  Vagabond's  fondness  for  riding,  his  love  of 
motion  were  not  enough,  the  picture — one  of  the  most 

188 


THE  VAGABOND 

precious  of  a  cherished  gallery  of  impressions — that 
Yolilla  made  on  Folly  alone  would  have  decided  him 
in  favor  of  the  cavalry.  The  pleasantest  feature  of  his 
new  duties  was  his  choice  of  that  dumb  ally  who  was 
to  share  danger  and  triumph  with  him.  He  looked 
at  scores  of  horses  before  he  found  a  suitable  one,  a 
sturdy,  clean-limbed  but  not  spider-limbed  bay,  a 
hand  higher  and  a  hundred  pounds  heavier  than  any 
other  in  his  command.  After  their  first  gallop  togeth- 
er, the  Vagabond  thought  of  the  onrushing  surf. 
"Breaker  is  your  name,"  he  said,  as  he  tapped  the 
white  star  on  the  forehead.  He  watched  over  Breaker 
as  a  father  does  over  a  child;  he  trained  him  till  he 
could  take  a  fence  as  vigorously  as,  if  less  gracefully 
than,  Folly,  or,  on  the  word,  would  fall  down  and  lie 
3S  quiet  as  the  sea  in  a  calm. 

From  the  character  of  its  leader,  which  its  troopers 
shared,  and  from  its  faculty  of  vouchsafing  itself  at 
any  time  or  place  with  the  slouching  preparedness  and 
good-humor  of  veterans,  the  company  was  soon  known 
throughout  the  army  as  the  Vagabonds.  In  the  ensu- 
ing weeks  after  Sumter's  fall,  they  did  everything  but 
fight  and  the  one  thing  that  their  Captain  most  wanted 
to  do,  namely,  make  a  scout  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  Lanley  house.  They  rode  to  Harper's  Ferry  and 
back ;  they  rode  into  Maryland ;  they  escorted  generals 
up  and  down  that  long  line  on  the  southern  side  of  the 
Potomac  which  was  being  daily  augmented  by  new 
forces  and  being  whipped  out  of  village  militia  com- 
panies into  a  composite  thing.  It  was  not  war  any 
more  than  the  tuning  of  the  orchestra  is  a  ball.  There 
cannot  be  war  without  armies;  and  the  armies  were 
yet  in  making. 

189 


THE  VAGABOND 

"The  ring-master  snaps  his  whip  and  round  and 
round  the  ring  we  go,"  growled  Tim  Booker,  "jump- 
ing through  hoops  and  over  bars  and  turning  somer- 
saults and  kissing  our  hands  to  the  ladies;  but  don't 
let  the  little  boy  blue  hear  the  crack  of  a  rifle.  It 
might  give  him  a  headache.  Why  I  ever  left  the  eter- 
nal hills  of  California " 

"You  wait;  you  wait,  Timothy,"  said  Jimmy  Pool, 
in  his  languid  drawl.  "You  may  get  a  stomachful  of 
lead  for  breakfast  one  of  these  mornings.  The  fatted 
ox  never  dreams  that  the  butcher  is  sharpening  his 
knife  for  him." 

"Jimmy  Pool,"  said  Tim,  wrathfully,  "you  go  hang 
your  wet  cloth  out  to  dry.  Pve  got  to  blaze  up  once 
in  a  while  or  I'll  explode." 

There  were  times  when  the  Vagabond,  always  used 
to  choosing  his  own  trail  and  his  own  camp  for  the 
night,  was  sorely  tempted  by  Tim's  scheme  of  strat- 
egy, which  was  simplicity  itself,  being  nothing  more 
or  less  than  to  ride  through  to  "New  Orleans  and  end 
the  war  at  once.  "Besides,  we'll  be  part  way  back  to 
"Frisco,"  Tim  added,  as  a  further  attraction. 

What  most  appealed  to  the  Vagabond  was  that  the 
flight  would  not  be  monotonous  while  it  lasted,  and 
he  could  pay  a  call  before  he  reached  the  enemy's 
lines.  While  he  promenaded  and  drilled,  his  story  was 
untold — and  the  girl  was  only  a  few  hours  away.  As 
disingenuously  as  he  might,  he  suggested  to  the  staff 
officer  of  engineers  that  he  had  a  little  talent  for  to- 
pography and  drawing,  and  he  was  promptly  made  a 
scout  at  another  part  of  the  lines.  He  even  hinted  to 
General  Huested,  his  brigade  commander,  that  he 
would  like  to  ride  out  to  see  what  was  in  front  of  him. 

190 


THE    VAGABOND 

In  reply  the  General  made  a  burring  sound  through 
his  mustache  and  said  nothing. 

Then  one  afternoon  came  to  his  tent  Maxim,  of  the 
staff,  accompanied  by  a  man  in  a  linen  duster,  with  its 
bottom  mud-stained  and  flying  behind  him.  The  Vag' 
abend's  first  impression  of  Mr.  Aikens  was  that  he  was 
green ;  and  it  was  inevitable  that  he  should  not  like  any 
man  of  that  complexion,  with  stooped  shoulders,  whin- 
ing voice,  and  the  apologetic  manner  of  a  weather- 
vane.  No  sooner  had  he  read  the  first  sentence  of  the 
order  that  Maxim  brought,  than  strangers  and  linen 
dusters  passed  into  oblivion. 

"ALEXANDRIA,  June  18,  1861. 

"CAPTAIN  WILLIAM  WILLIAMS: 

"At  dawn  to-morrow  morning  you  will  proceed 
with  your  company  to  the  Lanley  plantation.  Mr. 
Aikens,  who  was  formerly  an  overseer  on  that  planta- 
tion, knows  the  country  and  is  at  your  disposal.  If 
necessary  and  your  force  is  adequate,  you  will  push  in 
any  outposts  in  your  way.  If  your  force  is  inade- 
quate, you  will  immediately  report  the  fact  to  me. 
Your  main  business  is  to  get  as  accurate  a  map  as  pos- 
sible of  the  country  to  the  south  of  Lanleyton;  inci- 
dentally, to  glean  information.  From  this  point, 
which  is  the  highest  ground  in  the  region,  you  will 
be  in  sight  of  the  enemy's  camp.  As  soon  as  the  ene- 
my is  apprised  of  your  presence  you  will  likely  be  at- 
tacked in  force  by  cavalry.  I  believe  that  there  is  a 
signal-man  in  the  cupola  of  the  house.  This  fact,  taken 
in  connection  with  a  detached  outpost,  some  distance 
on  this  side  of  the  house,  may  mean  any  one  of  a  num- 
ber of  things.  I  leave  you  to  ascertain  what. 

191 


THE    VAGABOND 

"You  must  hold  your  own  until  you  have  accom- 
plished your  purpose.  The  time  that  you  will  have  to 
do  this  depends  upon  your  quickness  of  observation 
and  your  facility  with  your  pencil.  I  may  add  that  the 
map  is  of  extreme  importance,  so  you  may  govern 
yourself  accordingly. 

"By  order, 

"JAMES  H.  HUESTED,  Brig.-Gen.,  TJ.  S.  V., 
"Commanding  the  Second  Brigade,  Third  Division." 

Maxim  smiled  as  he  watched  the  Vagabond  devour 
the  lines  of  this  officially  polite  invitation  to  death  or 
success. 

"Look  out  for  old  Ginger  Southbridge!"  (who  was 
of  Maxim's  class  at  the  Point.)  "He's  all  rigged  out 
in  Spanish  spurs,  plume  and  sash,  and  he  and  his  cav- 
alry are  riding  up  and  down  like  the  wrath  of  God,  on 
the  look-out  for  the  like  of  you  and  yours.  Wish  I 
was  going  with  you.  Success!" 

Meanwhile,  from  sheer  force  of  habit,  Aikens's 
shifting  eyes  had  made  note  of  everything  in  his  host's 
tent.  At  that  moment  he  was  as  unconscious  as  the 
Vagabond  of  the  part  he  was  to  play  against  his  new 
acquaintance.  It  was  soon  evident  that  he  was  a  bet- 
ter observer  of  human  surroundings  than  of  topog- 
raphy. Were  the  banks  of  this  creek  so  high  as  to 
prevent  the  rapid  passage  of  cavalry  in  extended  or- 
der? Was  the  house  visible  from  that  grove  ?  Really, 
the  informant  did  not  know.  In  extenuation  of  his 
ignorance,  which  searching  questions  had  developed, 
the  man  in  the  linen  duster  fell  back  upon  the  phrase 
which  had  profited  him  well  in  New  England,  where 
he  had  appeared  before  abolition  societies  as  the  over- 
seer who  had  sacrificed  his  position  from  conscientious 

192 


THE  VAGABOND 

scruples.  Of  course  the  truth  was  that  he  had  been 
discharged  for  brutality  to  the  field-hands  and  worse. 

"Oh,  I  spent  a  miserable  time  on  that  place!  The 
young  lady  who  owns  it — not  until  you  know  the 
South  can  you  understand  how  cruel  she  was  to  the 
poor  black " 

"She  was  not  cruel!"  The  Vagabond,  who  seldom 
flew  into  a  passion,  was  in  a  savage  one  now.  The  very 
assertion,  above  all  from  a  green  man  in  a  linen  duster, 
that  the  girl  of  his  heart's  desire  was  anything  but 
gentle,  did  not  admit  of  thought  or  discussion.  "You 
lie,  Mr.  Aikens,  you  lie!" 

Cringing,  Aikens  longed  for  nothing  so  much  as 
the  courage  to  resent  this  sudden  and  amazing  out- 
burst from  a  quarter  whence  he  little  expected  it;  but 
it  was  not  in  him,  and,  therefore,  a  new  grudge  was 
born  in  the  camp-follower's  heart. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Captain,"  he  said. 

"And  you  know  you  lied,"  came  the  uncompromis- 
ing corollary. 

"Perhaps  I  was  prejudiced — I — I  exaggerated." 

With  that  the  Vagabond  closed  the  interview  and 
forgot  Aikens  as  he  hastened  to  Jimmy  and  Tim  with 
the  news. 

When  the  Vagabonds  learned  that  there  was  action 
afoot,  they  prepared  for  it  by  doing  many  things  that 
would  have  made  them  smile  after  they  became  veter- 
ans. They  rubbed  the  hilts  of  their  sabres;  they  ran 
their  thumbs  along  the  blades;  they  examined  each 
part  of  their  accoutrements ;  their  fingers  crept  up  and 
down  their  horses'  legs  in  reassurance,  all  being  ac- 
companied by  that  subdued  because  overdone  banter 
of  men  who  expect  to  go  under  fire. 

At  midnight  a  line  of  shadowy  forms  on  the  edge 
193 


THE    VAGABOND 

of  the  camp  awaited  the  word.  In  double  file,  their 
sabres  held  so  that  they  would  not  clank,  every  man 
watching  the  one  in  front  of  him,  now  in  the  shadow 
of  groves,  again  in  ravines,  no  word  spoken  except  an 
oath  smothered  in  a  whisper  to  a  trooper  who  lighted 
a  cigar,  keeping  to  the  sod  and  avoiding  roads  which 
would  be  sounding-boards  for  horses'  hoofs,  they  rode 
five  miles  by  angles  and  circles  for  one  mile  as  the 
crow  flies.  Finally  they  halted  in  a  clump  of  woods 
as  definitely  as  a  coach  before  an  inn.  Dismounted 
and  resting  on  the  ground,  Jimmy  Pool  ventured  the 
first  remark  not  purely  of  practical  significance. 

"D n  well  done!"  he  whispered.     It  was  the 

strongest  word  of  praise  in  his  vocabulary  and  he  used 
it  rarely. 

"D n  pretty  puzzle!"  growled  Tim.    "Tar's  I 

know,  we're  back  in  Maryland.  Probably  got  to  es- 
cort some  governor  of  a  State  to  a  cemetery  to  hunt 
for  a  rabbit's  foot.  Needn't  tell  me  we're  going  to 
fight.  Fight!  Here  am  I,  an  able-bodied  American 
citizen,  a  Californian,  a  miner  glued  up  in  a  uniform 
and  dangling  a  sabre  and  drawing  a  bootblack's  pay, 
when  I  might  be  back  in  the  eternal  hills  of " 

"Not  so  loud,"  Jimmy  warned  him;  and  "Wait, 
Timothy." 

Thus  they  did  wait  upon  the  rising  of  the  curtain 
of  night,  rehearsing  to  themselves  in  silence  the  parts 
they  were  to  play,  all  carefully  arranged  beforehand 
by  their  leader.  "With  the  flush  that  heralds  the  dawn 
they  sprang  softly  into  their  saddles,  as  if  they  were 
under  oath  not  to  awaken  the  sleeping  world.  Here 
and  there  was  the  rustle  of  leather  or  the  thud  of  an 
impatient  hoof.  In  answer  to  a  low  whistle,  a  line  of 
knees  pressed  the  horses'  sides  and  the  charge  began. 

194 


THE    VAGABOND 

The  Confederate  outpost,  awakened  by  the  tumult 
that  had  broken  out  of  the  darkness  and  solitude,  were 
rubbing  their  eyes  when  shadowy  forms  began  to  pass 
over  them  and  they  dodged  iron  heels  and  sabre 
thrusts.  The  Vagabonds  had  an  instant's  view  of  the 
camp,  such  as  one  gets  of  a  village  from  a  balloon 
hard  driven  by  the  wind.  Everyone  made  a  cut  at 
one  reclining  form  or  another,  as  a  boy  catches  at  the 
ring  from  the  wooden  steed  of  a  merry-go-round.  If 
he  failed  of  his  object  his  chance  was  gone,  and  with 
blade  uplifted  he  found  himself  borne  on  across  the 
fields,  with  the  first  shots  of  the  surprised  enemy 
crackling  behind. 

On  up  the  slope  toward  the  house  they  rode,  never 
slackening  pace  when  the  company  divided  into  three 
parts,  one  going  to  the  left,  one  to  the  right,  of  the 
park,  while  the  third,  with  the  Vagabond  at  its  head, 
dashed  under  the  trees.  He  had  disposed  his  little 
force  in  a  semicircle  of  three  points,  prepared  to  fall 
back  as  soon  as  his  work  was  done,  while  he  was  to 
ascend  to  the  cupola  of  the  house  where  the  trees 
could  not  hide  his  view  and  the  surrounding  country 
would  be  a  panorama  before  his  eyes.  The  enemy's 
outpost  could  not  reach  them  before  the  map  was 
made,  and  in  returning  they  could  go  as  they  had 
come,  on  the  gallop,  careless  of  obstacles.  No  sooner 
had  they  debouched  from  the  grove  than  the  signal- 
man stationed  in  the  cupola  was  waving  the  flag  that 
announced  their  attack.  By  a  coincidence,  South- 
bridge's  cavalry  was  in  the  saddle  about  to  start  on  an 
entirely  different  mission,  but  welcoming  with  a  shout 
the  one  which  circumstances  provided. 

It  also  happened  that  Miss  Lanley  was  up  and  dress- 
ing. If  she  were  to  ride  at  all  in  comfort  these  hot 

195 


THE    VAGABOND 

days  she  must  start  at  sun-up.  When  she  heard  the 
thunder  of  hoof-beats  she  supposed  that  Southbridge 
was  making  another  one  of  his  practice  runs  for  the 
good  of  his  men  and  the  peace  of  his  own  conscience. 
Their  foaming  horses  sent  the  gravel  flying  and  their 
accoutrements  jingled  with  the  sudden  halt  of  the  lit- 
tle cavalcade  at  the  door. 

"Now  out  under  those  trees  and  hold  fast  till  you 
hear  from  me!"  cried  the  Vagabond,  passing  his  reins 
to  his  orderly  as  he  sprang  to  earth. 

His  men  trotted  on.  He  took  two  or  three  steps 
and  then  stopped  as  abruptly  as  if  he  had  been  struck. 
Miss  Lanley  stood  before  him  on  the  threshold. 

"It's  you!"  she  exclaimed  in  horror. 

That  "you"  was  intensely  personal.  It  embraced 
at  once  her  hatred  of  the  invader  and  her  shock  that 
any  Federal  soldier  should  be  so  far  South  with  his 
sabre  still  on  his  belt.  She  made  him  feel  juvenile 
and  contemptible. 

"The  fortunes  of  war!  A  month  ago  I  was  a  guest 
here." 

"Pardon!"  she  interrupted,  icily,  frowning  at  the 
word. 

"I  mean,  you  were  very  nice  to  me  while  your 
smith  shod  my  horse.  To-day  my  General  has  sent 
me  to  make  a  map  from  your  cupola." 

"I  will  not  permit  it,"  she  replied,  in  the  tone 
of  one  closing  a  discussion  with  a  protesting 
servant. 

In  her  start  at  sight  of  him  she  had  withdrawn  a 
step.  Recovering  herself,  she  advanced  again  and 
fairly  barred  the  way.  Her  head  was  thrown  back, 
her  thin  nostrils  were  playing  with  her  defiant 

196 


THE    VAGABOND 

breaths,  and  her  eyes,  their  pupils*  contracted  to  two 
small  points  of  flame,  met  his  steadily.  There  were  no 
flying  sparks,  no  cattishness.  Her  anger  was  as  se- 
rene as  white  heat.  He  forgot  his  mission  in  contem- 
plation of  the  picture  she  made. 

"Heavens!  but  you  are  beautiful  when  you  look 
that  way!"  he  said,  so  simply  that  the  truth  shone 
through  every  word. 

She  raised  her  hunting-crop  as  if  she  would  strike 
him  with  all  her  strength.  Realizing  instantly  how 
his  words  must  have  sounded  to  her,  he  determined 
to  receive  the  blow;  for  he  felt  that  he  deserved  it. 
She  let  her  arm  fall  and  stepped  to  one  side. 

"Let  force  prevail  where  a  gentleman  would  not!" 

"A  thousand  pardons!  What  I  said  was  true,  true, 
true!  And  that's  why  I  said  it,"  he  declared,  as  again 
realizing  the  pressing  importance  of  every  second,  he 
started  up  the  stairs  three  at  a  bound. 

Instantly  his  back  was  turned,  she  ran  into  the 
yard  where  she  could  see  the  cupola,  in  pursuance  of 
a  plan,  the  conception  of  which  had  led  her  to  yield. 

The  Vagabond  had  overlooked  the  'fact  that  he 
might  have  a  signal-man  to  deal  with  and  was  oblivious 
of  any  fresh  danger.  When  he  found  himself  on  the 
platform  flush  with  the  roof,  from  which  the  cupola 
was  entered  by  half  a  dozen  steps  on  the  opposite  side 
from  the  stairway,  as  suddenly  as  an  indicator  flies 
up  on  a  switch  a  revolver  was  flashed  in  his  face. 

"Up  with  your  hands,  Yank!"  cried  the  signal-man. 

"Just  as  you  say,"  the  Vagabond  responded,  and  he 
raised  his  palms  abjectly. 

At  the  same  moment  he  dodged  his  head  back  be- 
hind one  of  the  octagonal  sides  of  a  structure  which 

197 


THE  VAGABOND 

had  advantages  for  a  game  of  hide-and-seek.  That  sur- 
prised the  signal-man  a  little.  It  was  like  catching  a 
squirrel  by  the  tail  and  finding  that  the  rest  of  him 
had  fled.  He  had  nothing  to  shoot  at  except  two 
hands.  Directly,  one  of  those  disappeared,  and  he  un- 
derstood what  it  was  after.  So  he  pushed  his  revolver 
•slowly  forward,  his  head  at  a  safe  distance  behind  it. 
It  did  not  require  as  skilful  a  marksman  as  the  Vaga- 
bond to  hit  the  tanned  hand  which  was  only  two  feet 
away.  There  was  a  report  and  the  signal-man's  weapon 
fell  to  the  floor,  while  at  the  sight  of  a  gleaming  barrel 
and  a  smiling  face  behind  it  he  threw  his  head  back 
as  suddenly  as  if  someone  had  unexpectedly  stuck  a 
pin  in  his  chin. 

"Now,"  said  his  captor,  "step  back  to  your  place. 
I  prefer  your  company  to  having  you  lie  in  wait  for 
me  on  the  stairs.  Not  to  mention  that  I've  got  a  re- 
volver, I'm  bigger  and  stronger  than  you,  my  boy; 
so  you  better  be  reconciled." 

"Oh,  I'm  as  good  as  preachin'!  Durn  my  skin  if 
ever  any  blue-belly'll  fool  me  again  that  a  way.  I 
acted  as  though  that  revolver  of  mine  could  see." 

"No,  your  mistake  was  in  coming  down  to  meet  me. 
You  ought  to  have  leaned  out  of  the  cupola  window 
and  caught  me  as  I  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  stairs." 

"M-m-m !  That's  right,"  said  the  signal-man,  as  he 
bound  up  his  thumb  with  his  handkerchief. 

A  glance  showed  the  enemy's  tents  a  field  of  mush- 
rooms on  the  plain  beyond;  it  showed  how  easy  was 
the  Vagabond's  task  if  he  had  time  for  it;  and  it 
showed  something  more — a  line  of  cavalry  moving 
away  from  camp. 

"Signal  to  that  cavalry  to  wait,  that  it  needs  infan- 
198 


THE  VAGABOND 

try  to  support  it — that  we  have  ten  guns  and  five  thou- 
sanc^  men !  Quick,  or  I'll — "  he  said,  fiercely,  to  the 
signal-man. 

The  prisoner  picked  up  his  flag  with  most  unseemly 
alacrity,  and  grinned  maliciously. 

"Sure  pop!"  he  said.  "But  you  kin  wave  all  the 
table-spreads  in  the  world  and  you  kin't  stop  Ginger 
Southbridge  when  the  General's  give  him  a  chance  to 
go  somewhar.  Mister  Yank,  you  and  your  blue-bel- 
lies down  thar'll  have  to  walk  to  Richmond  while 
Confeds  ride  your  nags." 

The  Vagabond's  real  desire  was  to  save  Southbridge 
the  trouble  of  coming  so  far;  to  go  out  to  meet  him 
half-way.  But  desires  have  little  place  in  war.  He 
was  outnumbered  six  to  one.  His  orders  were  to  make 
the  map  and  go,  and  the  time  left  for  that  was  the 
three  or  four  minutes  that  it  would  require  that  gal- 
loping column  to  arrive.  If  he  resisted,  there  would 
be  a  scrimmage. 

And  Volilla !  She  would  be  under  fire.  She  would 
see  men  wounded  and  dying  on  her  very  door-step. 
His  sense  of  chivalry  became  alive  to  possibilities  that 
had  not  occurred  to  him  before.  It  was  enough  to 
have  forced  his  way  into  her  house  without  making 
her  lawn  a  battle-field.  Seizing  the  whistle  which  he 
used  for  giving  signals  to  his  men,  he  blew  the  call  of 
withdrawal ;  and  realizing  that  if  he  was  to  accompany 
them  no  time  was  to  be  lost,  he  started  back  down  the 
stairs,  solacing  himself  with  the  idea  that  he  could 
make  a  map  from  memory. 

From  the  yard,  after  the  signal-man  had  all  too  im- 
petuously acted  on  her  information,  Volilla,  in  cha- 
grin that  made  her  stamp  her  foot,  had  seen  the  abject 

199 


THE  VAGABOND 

prisoner  of  one  moment  the  buoyant  captor  of  the 
next.  Though  she  could  not  see  him  clearly,  she  was 
sure  that  he  swaggered  in  actor  fashion;  that  he 
smiled  with  vexatious  confidence.  She  felt  as  if  she 
had  been  personally  baffled.  The  blood  tingled  in  the 
lobes  of  her  little  ears.  Her  desire  to  teach  this  im- 
pudent circus-rider  of  a  man  a  lesson,  to  humiliate  him 
in  his  turn,  outweighed  every  other  consideration. 

She  ran  back  into  the  house,  her  imagination  soar- 
ing and  falling  as  she  conceived  and  dismissed  plans. 
Bulwer's  pistol,  hanging  on  the  rack,  fairly  leaped  at 
her  with  a  suggestion  that  made  her  temples  throb  in 
exultation.  She  seized  it  and  ran  up  the  stairs,  meet- 
ing the  Vagabond  just  at  the  head  of  the  flight  lead- 
ing from  the  cupola.  Thus  far  she  had  been  perfectly 
certain  of  herself.  She  was  used  to  fire-arms,  but  not 
to  taking  prisoners.  She  felt  her  heart  beating  tu- 
multuously  and  her  hand  trembling,  though  her  brain 
bade  it  be  still,  as  she  pointed  the  weapon  straight 
into  his  face. 

"Surrender!" 

Trying  to  speak  the  word  steadily,  her  ears  told  her 
that  the  r's  were  blurred  in  a  pitching  tremolo. 

And  he?  To  her  increased  rage  and  distraction,  he 
smiled  at  that  black  muzzle  and  at  her,  as  much  as  to 
say  that  he  knew  she  was  only  playing.  For  in  the 
new  demonstration  he  had  found  quite  another  side 
of  her  to  admire,  and  he  forgot  again  that  his  safety 
depended  upon  haste. 

"I  have  already,"  he  said,  pleasantly. 

"To  him,  yes,"  she  said;  "now  to  me!" 

He  inclined  his  head  gently  in  compliance. 

"I  have  already  to  you — the  first  time  I  saw  you!" 
200 


THE    VAGABOND 

lie  cried,  unconscious  of  all  save  her  and  his  love  for 
her. 

Because  it  stiffened  her  anger,  she  almost  thanked 
him  for  this  crowning  impudent  thrust  of  his  noncha- 
lance (as  it  seemed  to  her).  She  saw  that  her  hand  no 
longer  trembled.  Afterward  she  recalled  that  the 
sight  was  fairly  between  his  eyes  and  that  she  had 
thought  that  a  little  too  brutal.  She  lowered  it  until 
it  covered  his  breast,  while  he  still  smiled  at  her  deter- 
mination. 

\    "Throw  your  revolver  out  of  the  window  there,  or 
I  fire!" 

He  saw  that  she  would  be  as  good  as  her  word,  and, 
still  smiling,  he  did  as  he  was  bid,  while  her  attention 
was  for  an  instant  diverted  by  the  movement.  His 
weapon  left  his  fingers  as  they  were  near  the  muzzle 
of  her  own  weapon,  the  barrel  of  which  he  suddenly 
grasped,  and,  swerving  it  to  one  side,  held  it  there 
steadily,  making  her  most  sensible  of  her  powerless- 
ness  without  having  exerted  his  masculine  strength 
roughly,  while  he  continued  to  smile  pleasantly. 

"Necessity  requires,"  he  said,  softly,  as  to  a  partner 
in  a  dance.  "If  it  were  only  you  and  not  your  sol- 
diers who  wanted  me,  though  I  were  in  an  arsenal, 
you  could  have  me  by  lifting  your  finger." 

As  jauntily  as  they  would  have  swung  in  a  minuet, 
he  passed  around  his  indignant  adversary,  his  last 
glimpse  being  of  blazing  eyes  and  set  lips.  She  let  her 
revolver  fall  to  a  level  with  his  back,  little  thinking 
that  her  safety  had  impelled  his  retreat.  There  was 
an  instant  of  irresolution  which  seemed  an  hour  to  her, 
and  she  did  not  fire. 

At  the  door  was  the  section  of  his  company  imme- 
201 


THE  VAGABOND 

diately  under  his  command,  while  on  the  road  he 
caught  glimpses  of  the  others  at  the  trot.  He  picked 
up  his  own  revolver  from  the  spot  where  it  had  fallen 
when  he  threw  it  out  of  the  window,  calling  to  the 
men  to  proceed.  As  he  swung  into  the  saddle  he 
heard  yells  of  delight  joined  to  the  thunderous  hoof- 
song  of  the  Virginia  Firsts.  They  bore  a  personal 
message  to  him.  They  seemed  to  say : 

"Oh,  you  are  running  away — running  away  from 
Southbridge — yes,  from  Southbridge — before  you 
have  made  that  map.  What  are  you  going  to  tell  the 
General?  That  there  was  a  girl  and  you  couldn't? 
How  many  times  more  are  you  going  to  change  your 
mind  ?  Are  you  going  to  confess  failure  in  face  of  the 
General's  order,  when  you  haven't  had  a  man 
scratched?  You'll  get  another  chance,  oh,  yes,  you 
will — a  chance  to  guard  piles  of  hardtack!" 

Already  the  first  of  his  file  of  twos  was  passing  un- 
der the  trees  at  the  entrance  to  the  road.  They  were 
calling  "Look  out  for  your  heads!"  and  as  soon  as  the 
way  was  clear  they  drove  in  their  spurs  and  broke  for 
safety  with  all  speed.  When  he  saw  the  man  ahead  of 
him  reach  up  to  push  aside  the  twigs,  the  Vagabond's, 
inspiration  and  opportunity  came.  He  grasped  the 
overhanging  limb  of  the  elm  and  swung  himself 
upon  it. 

"I've  got  to  finish  that  map.  If  I  don't  return, 
you'll  find  it  in  a  crotch  of  the  tree,"  he  called  to  his 
startled  orderly. 


202 


xxn 

FOLLY  TAKES  BREAKER'S  PLACE 

Precipitately,  lie  slid  along  the  limb  and  lifted  him- 
self upon  the  one  above,  so  that  his  dangling  legs 
would  not  be  a  signal  of  his  predicament.  From  this 
position,  jubilant  in  the  conviction  that  his  own  com- 
pany had  too  much  of  a  lead  to  be -caught,  he  watched 
the  Confederates  sweep  through  the  park  in  a  whirl- 
wind of  shouts  and  crunching  gravel,  leaving  the 
twigs  that  had  whipped  the  men's  faces  quivering. 
Soon  he  heard  a  scattering  rifle-fire  and  knew  that 
Southbridge  had  halted  his  men  in  order  to  speed  the 
parting  guest  with  a  few  charges  of  lead.  Then 
SouthBridge  rode  back  in  a  rage  that  his  orders  per- 
mitted him  to  go  no  farther.  If  they  had,  he  would 
have  ridden  clear  to  the  Union  lines,  though  he  had 
not  gained  an  inch  on  the  way.  He  dismounted  his 
men  and  he  himself  stepped  upon  the  porch.  Volilla 
was  visible  in  the  door-way  over  the  back  of  Sir 
Knight  as  he  swept  the  floor  with  his  plume.  Such  a 
radiant  smile  as  she  now  bestowed  upon  another  was 
the  Vagabond's  haunting  ambition  and  hope.  It 
would  have  been  better  for  his  peace  of  mind  if  he 
had  not  seen  this  or  heard  her  greeting  of  his  pursuer. 

"A  heroic  relief!"  she  cried. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  the  Vagabond  thought,  savagely. 
Then  he  heard  Southbridge  say: 

203 


THE    VAGABOND 

"You  will  find  the  Virginia  Firsts  always  on  hand. 
We  never  sleep.  We  are  always  in  the  saddle,  always 
riding,  for  then  no  chance  will  escape  us.  I  shall  not 
rest  till  the  last  invader  is  off  our  soil." 

"They  ran  at  sight  of  you,"  she  said,  whether  out 
of  admiration  for  Southbridge  or  contempt  for  the 
Federals  the  Vagabond  was  at  a  loss  to  determine. 

"As  for  this  California  adventurer,  Williams" — ad- 
venturer! it  is  hard  for  a  brave  man  to  be  called  that 
and  remain  silent,  especially  when  he  is  a-straddle  of 
a  limb — "I  shall  catch  him  yet,  easily,  quite  easily," 
Southbridge  concluded,  with  as  much  nonchalance  as 
if  he  meant  a  train. 

"Will  you!"  said  the  Vagabond,  softly,  rolling  the 
morsel  on  his  tongue.  "Hm-m-m,  will  you!" 

Here,  Bulwer,  dust-covered,  came  riding  swiftly  up, 
his  errand  being  the  safety  of  his  mother,  who  was 
staying  at  Lanleyton.  The  three  went  into  the  house, 
Southbridge  ascending  to  the  cupola  to  report  by  wig- 
wag to  his  General. 

The  Confederates  had  distributed  themselves  about 
in  the  shade,  most  of  them  to  the  north  of  the  house, 
where  the  well  was.  A  few,  however,  were  in  the 
Vagabond's  neighborhood.  One  of  these,  casting 
about  for  a  seat,  dropped  at  the  roots  of  the  elm  and 
leaned  his  back  against  the  trunk.  If  he  looked  up,  a 
sensation  was  certain.  He  took  a  chew  of  tobacco  and 
his  habit  of  mind  seemed  such  that  if  the  Vagabond 
did  not  attract  his  attention  by  any  movement,  he 
would  be  preoccupied  until  the  juice  was  flowing  well. 

Whether  the  interval  'of  security  was  to  be  long  or 
short,  the  Vagabond  determined  to  make  the  most  of 
it.  The  very  possibility  of  being  taken  before  he  had 

204 


THE  VAGABOND 

made  any  map  at  all  made  him  forget  the  pain  of  his 
cramped  position,  which  he  dared  not  change.  As  he 
drew  from  memory  with  hasty  strokes,  he  thought 
how  completely  he  had  lost  his  head  for  duty  both 
times  when  he  found  himself  alone  with  the  girl  he 
had  carried  secretly  in  his  heart  for  twelve  years.  At 
last  he  had  two  matching  sheets  finished,  and  as  he 
surveyed  them  he  imagined  he  heard  a  military  growl 
when  the  General  should  observe  their  want  of  detail. 

"And  I  could  have  made  such  a  fine  map  from  the 
cupola  if — if  when  I  look  in  her  eyes  I  don't  cease  to 
think  of  everything  except  her,"  he  thought  a  little  de- 
jectedly; "and  I  might  have  busied  Southbridge  a  bit, 
too." 

Having  crammed  the  pieces  of  paper  into  the  crotch 
nearest  him,  he  had  nothing  to  do  except  to  look  down 
at  the  private  who,  perhaps  magnetized  by  his  gaze, 
leaned  back  lazily  and  saw  something  blue  overhead. 
He  blinked  to  dispel  the  illusion,  vainly. 

"Hello!"  he  said,  tentatively.  "Hello,  Yank!"  he 
added,  in  full  conviction ;  and  the  Vagabond  saw  that 
he  was  about  to  give  the  alarm.  Before  it  could  take 
expression,  the  muzzle  of  a  revolver  was  poked 
through  the  leaves. 

"One  word,  my  boy,"  the  man  on  the  limb  whis- 
pered, "just  one  word,  and  you  won't  be  at  roll-call  in 
the  morning." 

The  private  blinked  again.  He  switched  his  cud 
from  one  corner  of  his  mouth  to  the  other  with  the  de- 
liberation of  a  ruminant,  before  committing  himself 
to  a  line  of  action. 

"Tnat's  a  good  talk,"  he  replied,  "only  you  won't. 
You  shoot  me  and  you'll  be  killed  as  dead  as  a  door- 

205 


THE  VAGABOND 

nail.  I  reckon  you'd  rather  be  a  live  prisoner,  eh, 
Yank?" 

"It  depends,"  Billy  responded,  with  the  assumption 
of  desperate  cynicism.  "It's  less  trouble  in  a  scrim- 
mage than  to  be  shot  with  ceremony.  I'm  not  going 
to  be  taken  alive,  that's  certain.  So  much  for  me. 
You're  the  interested  party,  Johnny  Reb.  It  makes 
a  lot  of  difference  to  you — just  the  difference  of 
whether  you  go  with  your  comrades  or  go  to  kingdom 
come  this  minute.  I'll  take  as  much  as  I  lose.  I'll 
tally  one,  anyway.  Yes,  I'll  get  you  sure,  fair  be- 
tween the  eyes,  and  I  think  I  can  fix  that  fellow  with 
the  week-old  beard  yonder,  too." 

Nothing  more  affects  the  personal  equation  than  a 
small  black  spot  in  a  circle  of  steel  with  a  sight  above 
it  and  a  clear  eye  beyond  that.  The  Vagabond  cocked 
his  revolver  with  a  click  that  was  as  suggestive  as  the 
roar  of  Niagara  Falls. 

"All  right,"  the  private  whispered.  "Don't  shoot, 
Yank!  It's  a  bargain." 

"And  you  aren't  going  to  mention  it,  now  or  after- 
ward?" 

"Nope." 

"I  know  your  word's  good,"  Billy  said,  and  dropped 
the  revolver  to  his  knee. 

"Afterward?"  The  private  grinned.  "Say,  I'd  be 
a  nice  kind  of  galoot  to  tell  the  Colonel  I  seen  a  Yank 
but  didn't  take  him  'cause  he  got  his  gun  up  first.  Not 
me!  Why,  the  joke's  on  me!"  And  he  broke  into  a 
guffaw  which  was  misery  to  the  Vagabond's  ears. 

"What  you  larfin'  about?"  called  another  Confed- 
erate. 

"At  the  way  old  Ginger  ripped  and  tore  over- his 
206 


THE  VAGABOND 

orders,"  was  the  perfectly  innocent  reply.  Then  he 
reached  into  his  pocket  and  brought  forth  a  roll  of 
fine  cut.  Renewing  his  cud,  he  said:  "Yank,  it  ain't 
none  of  my  business,  but  I'd  like  to  know  how  you 
happen  to  be  a-straddle  of  that  limb  ?" 

"The  limb  just  picked  me  up — unexpectedly." 

"Wasn't  very  used  to  riding,  was  you?  Most  of 
you  Northerners  have  been  clerks  and  constables  and 
shoe-makers,  ain't  you?  Crackey!  You'd  think  you 
was  sitting  on  a  pair  of  boils,  though,  if  you  had  to 
follow  old  Ginger  Southbridge  for  a  day.  Not  much 
cavalry,  either,  have  you?  There's  one  lot  I  heard 
of  under  a  fellow  named  Williams  that's  right  smart, 
though.  Old  Ginger's  just  waitin'  to  gather  'em  in. 
If  the  General'd  only  let  us  go,  we  Tigers'd  have  the 
Virginia  jails  full  of  Yanks.  That  fellow  Williams 
must  be  a  skunk.  He's  from  California,  I  hear.  Now 
California  ought  to  keep  out  of  this  war.  It  ain't  right 
for  a  man  from  way  out  there  to  interfere.  Ginger'll 
get  Williams  yet;  you  see  if  he  don't." 

The  fun  of  the  thing  was  irresistible;  the  Vagabond 
revealed  his  identity. 

"G-a-w-d!"  exclaimed  the  private,  his  cud  held  in 
suspension  on  his  tongue.  Just  "G-a-w-d"  and  noth- 
ing more ! 

"That's  no  excuse  for  breaking  your  agreement, 
though,"  added  the  Vagabond,  coming  back  to  a  sense 
of  his  position. 

"You  look  here,  Billyums,"  replied  the  private, 
"you  ain't  no  officer  to  me.  I  called  you  a  skunk  and 
that's  what  you  are,  mixing  up  in  other  folks's  wars. 
And  I  want  to  tell  you  right  now,  Billyums" — the 
play  on  the  name  seemed  to  afford  the  private  his  one 

207 


THE  VAGABOND 

consolation — "that  a  Virginian's  word's  as  good  as 
any  blue-bellied  Yank's  that  ever  walked." 

Here  the  sound  of  the  bugle  made  them  both  look 
toward  the  porch,  where  the  two  officers  and  Miss 
Lanley  had  reappeared. 

"G-a-w-d!  To  think  that  Ginger's  that  near  to 
you  and  don't  know  it!"  His  comrades  were  hasten- 
ing to  mount,  and,  as  he  arose,  the  private  paid  his 
farewell  respects  to  the  man  in  the  tree.  "You  made 
a  monkey  of  me  and  don't  you  think  I  don't  know  it, 
Billyums.  Of  course  you  wouldn't  have  shot  me! 
You  just  go  to  h 1!  I'll  get  even  with  you  yet!" 

"I  think  you're  a  good  fellow  and  thank  you  very 
much,"  the  Vagabond  responded. 

Putting  his  thumb  to  his  nose  in  a  most  impolite 
gesture,  the  private  rode  to  his  place  in  the  line. 

Southbridge  was  giving  orders  in  a  grandiloquent 
tone.  For  Miss  Lanley's  praise,  he  formed  his  men  in 
close  order,  the  gray  mass  stretching  across  the  whole 
open  space  to  the  very  edge  of  the  trees. 

"A  review  in  my  honor!  This  is  too  much!" 
thought  the  Vagabond,  as  with  critical  eye  he  meas- 
ured the  strength  of  that  fine  body  of  soldiery. 

Southbridge  was  standing  on  the  porch,  with  one 
gauntleted  hand  holding  his  hat  and  the  other  on  his 
sword-hilt.  His  orderly  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  held 
his  horse,  and  strapped  to  the  orderly's  saddle  was  the 
one  superfluous  article  in  that  regiment's  accoutre- 
ments— its  commander's  guitar.  He  looked  up  and 
down  his  columns  with  searching  dignity  until  the 
lines  were  all  rectified.  Then  he  passed  the  word, 
and  every  sabre  flashed  out,  making  a  field  of  rigid, 
gleaming  steel  points.  He  turned  to  Miss  Lanley  with 

208 


THE    VAGABOND 

a  bow — the  bow  of  the  equestrian  who  has  jumped 
through  a  flaming  ring  in  the  circus,  thought  the  Vag- 
abond contemptuously — and  she  impulsively  threw  a 
kiss  at  the  whole  command,  which  every  trooper 
caught  rapturously  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

"Three  cheers  for  your  commander!"  she  called. 

They  did  not  cheer.  They  broke  into  that  terrible 
yell  whose  echoes  for  four  years  rose  and  fell,  from 
the  Mississippi  to  Hampton  Roads,  with  the  fortunes 
of  their  cause. 

"That's  better  than  cheering,"  said  Southbridge. 
"A  man  stops  when  he  cheers.  I  don't  want  the  Vir- 
ginia Firsts  ever  to  have  the  idea  that  they  are  to  be 
still.  Cheering  is  all  very  well  for  gunners  and  quar- 
termasters," and  he  cast  a  glance  at  Bulwer,  who  was 
now  a  colonel  of  artillery. 

With  that,  he  bowed  again;  the  sabres  went  shuck- 
ing home  into  their  scabbards,  and  he  remounted  and 
in  columns  of  twos  the  Tigers  started  down  the  drive, 
a  band  of  sinewy,  determined  men  on  sinewy  horses, 
with  the  spirit  of  corps  written  large  on  every  face — 
fellow  Americans,  that's  all. 

"They'll  have  to  push  these  twigs  out  of  the  way 
and  then  they'll  look  up  and  see  me,"  thought  the 
Vagabond. 

He  sprang  to  the  other  side  of  the  trunk,  and,  cling- 
ing with  hands  and  knees,  waited  in  suspense  until  the 
last  file  had  passed  and  he  knew  that  he  had  been  un- 
observed. Then  he  seated  himself  again  in  the 
crotch  to  think  over  the  situation;  and,  having  once 
more  a  view  of  the  house  through  the  foliage,  he  saw 
that  Volilla  and  Bulwer  had  left  the  porch.  If  he 
started  for  the  Union  lines  he  might  fall  into  the 

209 


THE  VAGABOND 

hands  of  the  outpost.  For  that  enterprise,  then,  night 
was  best;  while  as  yet  it  was  only  six  in  the  morning, 
not  to  mention  that  his  seat  was  none  too  comfortable. 
Apparently,  Southbridge  by  order  had  withdrawn  for 
good,  leaving  only  Bulwer  and  the  signal-man  to  dis- 
pute possession  with  him.  At  that  moment  she,  of 
whom  he  craved  only  an  hour's  listening,  might  be 
alone.  Within  grasp  was  the  chance  which  might  not 
be  his  for  many  months  or  even  years,  should  the  war 
last  that  long.  He  could  apologize  for  the  rudeness 
of  the  morning;  he  could  tell  the  whole  story  of  his 
fancy  for  a  mountain,  a  mine  and  a  girl — one  girl — 
the  only  one.  As  for  Bulwer,  his  capture  and  release 
would  enforce  his  desired  absence. 

He  was  about  to  descend  from  the  tree  when  he  saw 
a  carriage  with  two  riding-horses,  one  with  a  Confed- 
erate saddle-cloth  and  the  other  Miss  Lanley's,  coming 
from  the  stable.  Mrs.  Bulwer,  on  the  arm  of  her  son 
and  looking  as  if  she  resented  action  at  so  early  an 
hour,  appeared  in  the  door-way,  with  Volilla  just  be- 
hind them.  After  Mrs.  Bulwer  was  snugly  fixed  on 
the  cushions,  the  other  two  mounted.  Josephus 
cracked  his  whip,  an  event  which  seemed  of  little  in- 
terest to  the  two  fat  old  horses,  which  started  off  at  a 
walk. 

For  the  Vagabond,  mother  and  son,  carriage  and 
driver,  were  so  many  supernumeraries.  His  gaze,  as 
steady  in  its  course  as  a  planet,  followed  the  graceful 
horsewoman  down  the  drive.  If  she  had  looked  up  as 
she  ducked  under  the  limb  she  might  have  seen  him. 
There  was  no  use  of  denying  to  himself  that  she  was 
going  beyond  the  Confederate  lines,  where  she  would 
be  as  unapproachable  as  if  she  were  in  CMna.  When 

210 


THE  VAGABOND 

should  he  see  her  again,  now?    How  long  would  his 
story  have  to  wait? 

"Honestly,  I  did  want  another  word  just  to  change 
your  impression  of  this  morning,"  he  said,  half  aloud, 
to  the  retreating  figure.  "I  beg  your  pardon  for 
many  things.  Please  don't  think  I'm  as  bad  as  I 
acted." 

A  group  of  negroes  who  had  watched  the  departure 
hurried  back  to  the  out-buildings,  thinking  it  unwise 
to  be  abroad  in  such  troublous  times.  The  house  had 
the  peculiar  aspect  of  desertion  of  one  that  has  been 
left  in  haste.  Through  the  wide-open  door  and  win- 
dows he  could  see  the  polished  floors  and  the  old-fash- 
ioned furniture.  Why  shouldn't  he  make  his  map  at 
leisure  from  his  chosen  vantage-point?  He  slipped 
down  from  his  perch  with  the  relief  of  one  released 
from  prison. .  Under  cover  of  the  trees  he  reached  the 
porch  and  then  tiptoed  up  the  stairs  unobserved. 
Adroitly,  by  soft  approach,  he  again  succeeded  in  tak- 
ing the  occupant  of  the  cupola  by  surprise. 

"Are  you  makin'  reg'lar  inspections  of  this  place?" 
asked  the  signal-man,  as  he  handed  over  his  revolver 
with  his  left  hand,  the  other  being  bandaged. 

"Why?" 

"  'Cause,  if  you  are,  I'm  goin'  to  ask  for  reinforce- 
ments. Think  I  need  a  flanking  party  right  over  yon- 
der." He  pointed  to  a  spur  on  the  roof  that  command- 
ed the  cupola. 

"That's  a  good-sized  left  hand  you  have.  Suppose 
you  sit  there  yourself.  I  don't  want  you  quite  so  near. 
Of  course,  if  you  try  any  tricks,  I'll  shoot  promptly." 

"Anything  t'  oblige.  You  don't  mind  if  I  play 
mumblety-peg  to  pass  the  time?" 

211 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Good !  I  see  you  are  a  soldier  who  accepts  the  in- 
evitable without  a  snarl." 

Surveying  again  the  broad  vista  which  the  cupola 
afforded,  he  noticed  behind  the  hills  and  trees  to  the 
right  of  the  great  open  field  between  the  house  and 
the  enemy's  camp  the  movement  of  a  column  toward 
the  north.  This  was  undoubtedly  information  for  the 
General ;  but  his  first  duty,  the  more  pressing  because 
of  the  folly  which  had  delayed  its  execution,  was  the 
map.  He  settled  himself  to  make  it  with  the  keen  de- 
light which  he  always  took  in  drawing.  The  signal- 
man watched  him  curiously,  for  some  time  in  silence, 
and  then  remarked: 

"Say,  Yank,  it's  kind  o'  lonesome  over  here.  If 
you  ain't  got  no  objection,  I'd  like  to  look  over  your 
shoulder.  I  won't  try  any  shenanigan,  s'  help  me." 

Without  glancing  up,  the  draughtsman  gave  his 
consent.  For  some  time  the  spectator  said  nothing, 
as  he  watched  with  circus-day  wonder  the  swift  strokes 
of  the  pencil. 

"Puttin'  it  all  down,  ain't  you?"  he  said,  finally. 
"Say,  if  you  don't  mind  answering  a  question  I  al- 
ways said  I'd  ask  the  first  Yank  I  ever  met,  will  you 
please  tell  me  what  right  your  army's  got  comin' 
down  here,  when  all  us  folks  wants  is  to  mind  our 
own  business  and  other  folks  to  mind  theirs  ?" 

"We  want  to  save  the  Union.  We  want  to  keep 
such  good  fellows  as  you  in  it." 

"You  mean  you  want  our  niggers;  ain't  that  it, 
now  ?" 

"Not  with  me." 

"Just  what  I  thought.  I  always  said  that  all  Yanks 
wasn't  blue-bellied.  I  expect  there's  some  like  you 

212 


THE    VAGABOND 

who  don't  know  what  they're  fightin'  for.  The  Yan- 
kee politicians  just  got  you  worked  up." 

"Do  you  know  what  you're  fighting  for?"          . 

"Yes,  sir.  For  State's  rights  and  ag'in  Northern 
domination.  What'd  you  do  if  we  marched  up  your 
way  and  tried  to  run  your  affairs?" 

"Fight." 

The  Confederate  smiled  in  triumph. 

"Oh,  no,  you  wouldn't.  You'd  just  lay  down  and 
say  please,  sir — you'd  haf  to — f or  the  Union,  wouldn't 
you?" 

"It  depends,"  the  Vagabond  said,  good-humoredly. 
Then  he  asked,  innocently,  as  he  pointed  with  his  pen- 
cil: "Does  that  road  bend  to  the  south  or  run  due 
east?" 

The  keen  gray  eye  of  the  signal-man  twinkled 
knowingly. 

"All  that  you  can't  see  I  don't  know  anything 
about,"  he  replied. 

In  consequence,  the  Vagabond  liked  him  better 
than  ever  and  wished  heartily  that  he  and  the  private 
under  the  tree  were  in  his  own  command.  They  chat- 
ted on  until  the  last  stroke  was  on  the  matching  sheets, 
and  he  folded  them  and  put  them  in  his  pocket  with 
the  consciousness  that  he  had  done  his  part,  come  what 
would.  When  he  looked  toward  the  north  he  discov- 
ered what  the  enemy  had  been  doing  in  the  meantime. 
The  outpost  in  front  of  the  house  had  been  reinforced 
and  spread  out  in  open  order.  Under  the  screen  of  a 
clump  of  trees  was  a  battery  of  guns  (Bulwer's).  He 
saw  some  scouts  riding  back  in  a  ravine,  where  the 
gray  patch  of  a  body  of  cavalry  was  all  but  melted  into 
the  brownish  earth.  He  recognized  instantly  that  if 

213 


his  Vagabonds  returned  for  the  map  they  would  be 
ingulfed  by  a  superior  force,  against  which  tactics 
would  beat  out  its  brain  and  courage  ply  its  sabre  in 
vain.  Return,  for  his  sake  if  for  no  other  cause,  they 
would,  he  knew.  Already  they  might  be  on  the  way. 
Mght  was  now  as  distant  for  his  purpose  as  the  next 
century.  On  foot  he  stood  one  chance  out  of  twenty 
of  getting  through  that  line  which,  quite  ignorant  of 
his  presence,  had  snakily  crept  around  him  while  he 
drew.  He  must  try  for  the  twentieth. 

"I  haven't  a  kingdom,"  he  thought,  "but  I'd  give 
my  mine  for  a  horse.  Then  I'd  reach  safety  or  they'd 
have  me  in  the  next  ten  minutes." 

As  he  sprang  down  the  steps  of  the  cupola  he  saw  a 
solitary  figure  approaching  on  the  road.  A  quick 
glance  through  his  glasses,  and  only  the  signal-man's 
presence  kept  him  from  dancing  out  of  sheer  delight. 
She  of  his  heart's  desire  had  again  proved  herself 
worthy  of  his  highest  conception.  She  had  merely  ac- 
companied Mrs.  Bulwer  to  a  place  of  safety  and  was 
now  returning  to  her  home,  whither  duty  called  her. 
It  was  not  entirely  the  thought  of  meeting  her  again 
that  made  him  drum  his  fingers  in  impatience  and  ela- 
tion until  he  heard  her  horse  on  the  drive.  Then  he 
blessed  the  catch  on  the  trap-door,  which  he  closed 
after  him,  and,  descending  rapidly,  reached  the  front 
door  just  as  Miss  Lanley  stopped  before  it.  When  she 
saw  him  she  said: 

"You  again!" 

And  nothing  could  have  been  more  personal  than 
her  exclamation  of  disgust  at  finding  him  there. 

He  sprang  forward  to  assist  her  to  dismount. 

"If  you  please."  She  spoke  so  frigidly,  arbitrarily, 
214 


THE  VAGABOND 

that  he  drew  back  his  hand  and  she  left  the  saddle  un- 
assisted. 

"I  want  to  say,"  he  began,  persistently,  "that  what- 
ever I  did  this  morning  war's  stern  rules  demanded, 
and  it  was  a  source  of  pain." 

"Do  not  suffer  too  much!"  she  exclaimed;  and  then, 
triumphantly:  "Your  apish  tricks  are  at  an  end.  You 
are  surrounded.  You  cannot  escape  this  time." 

"  And  that,"  he  said,  recovering  his  pleasantry, 
"prevents  me  from  telling  my  story  now,  for  I  have 
much — much  to  tell  you.  It  makes  it  necessary,  still 
further,  to  impress  your  hospitality.  I  must  borrow 
your  horse  to  save  myself  from  capture." 

"No!  no!  You  cannot  take  Folly!"  she  cried.  Her 
hands  joined  his  on  the  reins.  "I  love  this  horse !  No, 
you — savage!" 

He  swung  round  her  and  threw  himself  into  the 
saddle  with  a  bound. 

"There,  you  needn't  hold  him  any  longer.  I'm  so 
sorry,"  he  said. 

She  looked  about  helplessly  for  assistance. 

"It's  brutal,  very  brutal,  and  war  is  brutal,"  he 
added.  His  fingers  slipped  along  the  reins.  "I  hope 
I  sha'n't  have  to  go  to  the  last  resort." 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  and  drew  her  hands  away  as  if 
his  were  venomous.  "Haven't  you  any  considera- 
tion for  a  pet?  They  will  fire  at  the  sight  of 
your  uniform — the  whole  line  will  fire.  He  will 
be  killed!" 

"I  don't  think  so ;  not  by  my  desire,  at  least.  He 
carries  me.  I'll  care  for  him  as  if  he  were  mine  and 
return  him,  no  matter  at  what  cost,  just  as  he  is" — 
and  he  added  this  after  the  horse  was  in  motion — 

215 


THE  VAGABOND 

"except  that  you  will  observe  that  one  of  the  stirrups 
was  on  the  wrong  side  and  too  short  when  I  took 
him." 

And  he  heard  her  call  him  a  brute  as  he  dashed 
down  the  drive. 


216 


xxm 

WAS    SHOULD    BE    IMPEESONAL 

A  brute !  He  could  not  deny  that  his  action  war- 
ranted the  description.  Had  words  only  been  vouch- 
safed him  to  make  her  understand  the  situation — 
that  the  brazen  assurance  of  the  thief  was  for  his 
friends'  sake,  not  his  own! 

He  realized,  too,  that  his  only  favoring  circum- 
stance was  due  to  one  of  her  charms,  her  love  of  out- 
door sport.  If  Folly  could  not  have  taken  a  fence  or 
a  gully  he  would  have  had  to  run  past  a  half-com- 
pany that  lay  concealed  by  the  road-side.  When  he 
emerged  from  under  the  trees  and  saw  the  string  of 
gray  figures  stretching  across  the  field,  he  thought 
of  the  danger  to  the  horse  rather  than  to  himself  and 
felt  much  as  if  a  mother  had  given  her  child  into  his 
care  on  a  sinking  ship.  He  took  his  cap  in  his  hand 
and  bent  over  the  saddle  jockey  fashion  to  hide  his 
tell-tale  blue,  whispering  his  very  heart  into  the  ear 
of  Folly,  who  ran  as  if  death  were  at  his  heels.  The 
gray  coats  turned  around  on  hearing  the  sound  of 
hoofs  and  looked  at  the  flying  rider  in  perplexity. 
Was  it  an  orderly  with  a  message  of  great  impor- 
tance ?  If  so,  why  was  he  not  sitting  erect  ?  A  few 
raised  their  rifles  but  put  them  down  again,  when 
someone  passed  the  word  that  the  horse  was  Miss 
Lanley's. 

217 


THE  VAGABOND 

All  this  the  Vagabond  saw  and  understood,  gloat- 
ing over  every  second  of  their  hesitation  as  mean- 
ing many  yards  of  advantage  to  him.  Then  he  heard 
one  of  them  shout.  His  blue  uniform  had  been  rec- 
ognized. Before  perception  was  turned  into  action 
he  was  abreast  of  the  line.  He  heard  the  reports  of 
three  or  four  rifles  as  he  swept  past  a  private  near 
enough  to  have  reached  him  with  his  sabre.  He 
knew  that  the  greatest  danger  was  yet  to  come,  for 
he  would  be  under  the  fire  of  a  hundred  men  until 
he  should  pass  out  of  range. 

Then  he  did  a  thing  that  the  girl  ought  to  have 
known.  He  sat  erect  so  that  the  enemy  would  aim  at 
him  instead  of  at  Folly;  and  he  was  relieved  by  the 
thought  that  excited  marksmen  firing  in  haste  always 
shoot  high  and  by  the  assurance  that  if  he  fell  his 
bearer  was  too  valuable  a  prisoner  to  be  sacrificed. 
Compliments  went  whispering  by  his  ears;  more  of 
them  sang  overhead;  finally,  came  the  unmistakable 
croonings  that  tell  of  bullets  whose  energies  are 
spent.  One  of  these  dropped  in  front  of  Folly's  head 
into  the  earth  with  a  plunk;  and  after  that,  though 
the  line  still  spit  puff-balls  of  blue  smoke,  none  sent 
its  messenger  far  enough.  Laughing  for  joy  over  the 
safety  of  his  borrowed  rescuer,  he  slapped  the  steam- 
ing bay's  shoulder  in  gratitude,  relief,  triumph,  and 
apology. 

As  he  pursued  his  way  at  a  more  leisurely  gait, 
he  was  not  thinking  of  his  good  fortune  in  being  in 
time  to  warn  his  company  or  in  having  the  map  for 
the  General;  or,  above  all,  that  he  had  done  anything 
clever  or  audacious.  What  else  could  he  have  done 
(as  he  would  have  put  it)  ?  He  was  thinking  whether 

218 


THE    VAGABOND 

she  was  most  charming  when  she  scornfully  drew 
away  the  hem  of  her  gown,  when  she  coolly  de- 
manded his  surrender  at  a  pistol's  muzzle,  or  when 
she  impulsively  seized  the  reins  to  rescue  her  beloved 
hunter.  His  conclusion  was  a  composite  picture  that 
.made  him  more  than  ever  determined  to  tell  that 
story — oh,  that  silly,  cherished  story ! 

Meanwhile,  at  every  turning,  he  half  expected  to 
see  his  men  approaching.  When  he  did  see  them, 
they  were  not  alone.  Evidently  the  General's  plans 
had  been  changed  and  an  attack  in  force  was  in  prep- 
aration, for  behind  them  in  blue  stretches  on  the 
dusty  background  were  infantry  and  artillery  hang- 
ing after  a  hurried  march  in  the  suspense  of  a  halt 
before  action.  He  heard  his  name  and  then  huzzas. 
Such  was  his  fondness  for  his  comrades,  united  to 
him  by  love  of  adventure  and  true  affection  as  well 
as  by  enlistment,  that  in  their  common  shout  each 
one  seemed  to  be  voicing  his  individual  welcome  with 
the  mighty  throat  of  all.  He  lifted  his  cap  and  felt  his 
eyes  grow  moist.  Joy  blinded  him  for  the  moment 
to  General  Huested's  presence,  which  the  General 
promptly  signified  by  riding  forward  and  calling: 

""Have  you  got  that  map?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Quick!   Let  me  see  it!" 

It  was  so  large  that  the  Vagabond  put  the  pieces 
together  on  the  sward  by  the  road-side,  while  the 
General,  throwing  himself  on  his  knees,  said,  "Won- 
derful!" and  nothing  more,  except  to  pound  his  fist 
in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  his  favorite  gesture,  and 
to  ask  acutely  terse  and  practical  questions  in  rapid 
sequence,  developing  all  that  the  Vagabond  knew. 

219 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Their  advance  means  either  that  they  thought 
you'd  ride  into  the  lion's  mouth  again,"  he  said,  "or 
that  they  are  preparing  to  hold  that  hill,  or,  more 
likely,  it's  a  feint  to  attract  us  in  force.  I'll  attack 
as  ordered." 

There  was  a  faint  stress  on  "ordered,"  as  if  he. 
declined  responsibility. 

With  the  fist  still  pounding,  came  commands  to 
aides  and  regimental  commanders,  so  fast  and  so  me- 
chanical that  they  fairly  seemed  to  click  in  rotation. 
Every  part  of  the  force  except  the  Vagabonds  ac- 
counted for  and  set  in  motion,  he  began  to  fold  up 
those  sheets  of  paper,  as  important  to  him  as  the  rails 
to  a  train,  and  spoke  for  the  first  time  with  some- 
thing of  mess-table  ease. 

"Where  did  you  learn  to  draw  so  well?" 

"By  drawing  and  observing,  sir." 

"Hm-m — a  pretty  good  way !  At  some  other  time 
I  should  like  to  hear  how  you  got  yourself  out  of  that 
pickle  and  how  it  was  that  you  came  riding  back  on 
a  lady's  saddle  as  gayly  as  a  troubadour.  You  still 
have  work  to  do  to-day.  I  am  going  to  dismount  your 
men  and  advance  them  on  foot." 

"On  foot!"  He  already  had  a  cavalry-man's  an- 
tipathy to  this. 

"Yes,  in*  the  centre  of  the  line.  You  are  to  take 
the  Lanley  house  at  any  cost;  to  man  it  as  you  would 
a  fort;  to  hold  it  against  all  odds — such  are  my  or- 
ders. You  have  the  best  shots  in  the  command. 
Windows  will  furnish  a  rest  for  them  to  cover  a  wide 
range.  I  will  send  a  signal-man  with  you  and  you 
will  post  him  in  the  cupola  immediately." 

Though  he  knew  that  the  Confederates  if  they 
220 


THE   VAGABOND 

chose  could  reach  the  hill  with  a  greater  force  first, 
there  was  no  suggestion  in  the  General's  tone  that 
the  task  assigned  to  the  Vagabond  was  not  feasible. 
His  creed,  when  you  started  to  go,,  was  to  go  as  if 
you  had  a  direct  order  from  the  Almighty,  the  devil 
was  at  your  heels,  and  paradise  lay  within  the  enemy's 
works. 

"I'd  prefer — something  else,  sir — something  else 
equally  dangerous." 

"Why?" 

"It's  a  fine  old  house — and — there's — a  girl  in  it 
and  her  old  grandfather."  He  hung  his  head  and 
began  pulling  blades  of  grass.  "I  don't  like  the  idea 
of  firing  on  her — or  any  woman." 

The  General  regarded  him  narrowly  and  know- 
ingly. 

"Miss  Lanley  is  pretty,  and  clever,  too,  they  say. 
Hm-m!  I  presume  it  was  her  saddle-horse  that  you 
rode  back." 

"Yes.    I  took  it  by  force." 

"She  will  not  be  there  when  you  arrive.  The  Con- 
federates will  see  ier  safely  out  of  danger." 

"I  am  sure  that  she  will  insist  upon  staying." 

"She  may  say  so,  think  so;  but  the  sight  of  a  line 
of  bayonets  will  change  her  mind." 

"No,  it  will  not"  (doggedly). 

The  General  was  immensely  pleasecf  vith  the 
Vagabond's  morning  work  and  he  was  inclined  to 
humor  a  dashing  volunteer's  vagaries;  otherwise,  he 
would  have  put  the  Vagabond  under  arrest. 

"You  mean  to  contradict  your  superior,  sir!" 

"I  stated  an  opinion,  sir.  I  am  here  to  obey  or- 
ders, sir." 

221 


THE  VAGABOND 

"Captain  Williams,  if  every  fine  house  with  a  fine 
girl  in  it  was  made  an  isolated  area,  we  should  have 
balls  and  tea-parties  and  not  battles,  and  to  stop  a 
charge  you  would  need  not  guns  but  a  drawing-room 
and  a  girl.  The  bitterest  secessionists  are  women, 
and  Miss  Lanley  will  take  care  of  herself.  We  shall 
look  after  her  property  as  if  it  were  our  own.  How- 
ever, her  house  happens  to  be  on  an  eminence  ex- 
cellently suited  for  defensive  operations.  I  should 
post  my  guns  in  its  grounds  just  the  same  if  it  were 
the  Executive  Mansion  in  Washington.  If  your  per- 
sonal feelings  are  so  strong,  I  can  send  your  com- 
pany without  you,  or  I  can  assign  another  command 
to  that  part  of  the  line." 

The  Vagabond  preferred  this  alternative  in  his 
heart;  but  he  knew  that  his  men  were  only  vaga- 
bonds, while  some  of  the  regiments  on  his  own  as 
well  as  on  the  enemy's  side,  as  is  ever  the  case,  were 
vandals.  If  he  went  he  could  do  as  little  with  rifle- 
fire,  which  is  indiscriminate  in  its  choice  of  victims, 
and  as  much  with  the  bayonet,  which  discerns  its 
enemy,  as  stern  necessity  would  permit. 

"I'll  go,  sir,"  he  said. 

"And  you'll  take  the  house  at  any  cost?" 

"At  any  cost,  sir."  He  repeated  the  words  "at 
any  cost,"  meaning  any  cost  to  himself. 

"Refine  it  by  all  the  processes  you  will,  war  is 
brutal,"  the  General  added;  "and  the  only  way  to 
minimize  its  brutality  is  to  make  it  impersonal  and 
impartial.  Advance  with  your  command  at  once!" 


222 


XXIV 

A   TARGET    FOE    HER    SAKE 

For  the  hastening  of  Mr.  Lanley's  end,  clearly  in 
sight  of  his  physician,  the  war  was  responsible.  He 
rode  less,  rose  later,  and  sat  up  far  into  the  night, 
his  sherry  decanter  at  his  elbow. 

When  the  tramp  of  the  Vagabonds  partially  awak- 
ened him,  he  dozed  off  again  in  the  conviction  that 
young  Southbridge  was  up  at  cock-crow  sweeping 
over  the  face  of  the  land.  When  the  Virginia  Firsts 
thundered  through  the  yard  he  was  wide  awake.  By 
the  time  they  returned,  he  had  risen.  Feebly  step- 
ping to  the  window  and  pulling  aside  the  curtain, 
their  yell  in  answer  to  Volilla's  call  for  a  cheer  for 
their  commander  assaulted  his  ears. 

"In  God's  name,  can't  I  get  any  peace!"  he 
growled.  But  his  mood  quickly  changed.  "Look  at 
them,  the  young  Tigers !  Thank  Heaven  there  is  still 
someone  left  in  the  old  State  worthy  of  the  days  of 
Light  Horse  Harry  Lee!" 

He  thought  of  dressing  and  going  out  to  pay  his 
compliments.  A  twinge  of  gout  sent  him  back  to 
bed  and  finally  he  fell  asleep.  Formerly,  he  had 
tolerated  Southbridge,  whose  manners  were  not  his; 
now  he  was  fond  of  him.  Their  agreement  was  ve- 
hement on  the  one  great  question  of  the  hour. .  Their 
plan  of  campaign,  as  simple  as  Tim  Booker's,  in- 

223 


THE    VAGABOND 

volved  nothing  less  than  the  immediate  occupation 
of  Washington.  The  very  sight  of  the  outpost  placed 
in  front  of  his  premises  as  a  sop  to  his  complaints 
had  sent  Mr.  Lanley  into  a  fit  of  rage.  Daily  he  had 
anathematized  it  from  the  windows  with  warnings 
not  to  risk  its  precious  life  by  advancing  a  step. 

His  granddaughter  had  no  relief  from  that  solici- 
tude which  saved  him  from  his  own  acerbity  except 
her  morning  rides,  stolen  while  he  slept.  Before  she 
departed  with  Mrs.  Bulwer  for  the  Confederate  lines 
she  had  listened  again  at  his  door  and  heard  only  the 
sound  of  his  deep  breathing.  When  slumber  did 
overtake  him,  his  age  and  exhaustion  made  him  yield 
completely.  "Not  until  the  Vagabond  was  back  in 
the  Union  lines  did  he  finally  ring  for  Marcus 
Aurelius  to  bring  his  boots.  With  Volilla  to  pour 
his  coffee  as  usual,  he  sat  down  to  breakfast,  igno- 
rant of  the  events  of  the  morning.  When  he  was  sip- 
ping the  last  half  of  his  second  cup,  by  easy  ap- 
proaches she  broached  the  news  which  she  knew  he 
must  learn  sooner  or  later.  Alas !  her  artfulness  was 
in  vain.  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  overturning  his  chair 
and  making  the  dishes  on  the  table  rattle. 

"Yankee  cavalry!  Yankee  cavalry  has  been  in 
these  grounds!"  he  gasped. 

"And  a  Yankee  took  Missy's  hoss  and  made  a  map 
frum  de  cup'la.  Yis,  sah!" 

Having  had  his  climax,  Marcus  ran  from  the  room 
in  terror. 

"And  I  slept!  And  you  did  not  tell  me!"  Mr. 
Lanley  cried. 

His  face  was  white;  his  figure  had  straightened  to 
an  attitude  of  youth,  and  his  eyes  were  flaming,  No 

224 


THE  VAGABOND 

protest  about  the  physician's  warning  could  stay  him: 
for  the  first  time  in  months  he  mounted  the  stairs 
without  a  hand  on  the  railing  and  kept  on  with  firm 
step  to  the  cupola  itself.  There  he  saw  the  thin  line 
of  the  Confederates  like  a  dotted  tracing  on  a  map, 
and  beyond  it  the  Federals  spreading  out  from  col- 
umns into  skirmish  order,  in  the  manner  of  so  many 
fans,  slowly  opening  until  they  were  quite  extended 
and  their  edges  joined.  Himself  a  soldier  in  his 
youth,  he  understood  the  meaning  of  this,  and  put- 
ting aside  the  boastings  of  wine-heated  conversation 
he  realized  the  all-supreme  relative  value  of  numbers. 

"Tell  your  commander  that  we  can't  stand  against 
that  any  more  than  you  can  dam  a  river  with  a  fish- 
net!" he  called  to  the  signal-man,  "and  tell  him  I  said 
so — I  said  so,  Mortimer  Lanley,  the  owner  of  Lan- 
leyton!" 

Letter  by  letter  the  message  was  sent,  and  letter 
by  letter  came  the  laconic,  unsentimental,  war-time 
answer: 

"The  General  considers  the  situation  satisfactory." 

So  it  was.  The  Confederate  commander  had  de- 
pleted not  reinforced  the  guns  and  men  sent  out  to 
trap  a  company  of  cavalry.  When  his  scouts  ascer- 
tained that  an  attack  was  to  be  made  in  force,  he  had 
no  desire  other  than  to  make  the  hill  seem  valuable 
to  the  Federals ;  to  hold  as  many  of  them  as  he  could 
there,  while  the  troops  that  occupied  the  camp  near 
Lanleyton  were  engaged  in  the  battle  of  the  morrow. 

And  now  Mr.  Lanley  became  strangely  cool  and 
savagely  so.  First,  he  had  Marcus  bring  his  sport- 
ing-rifle; then  a  glass  and  a  bottle  of  his  oldest,  his 
'32  port.  He  enjoyed  the  bouquet  with  a  connois- 

225 


THE    VAGABOND 

seur's  nice  deliberation  and  drank  a  glass  with  a 
steadier  hand  than  he  had  known  for  ten  years. 

"Marcus,"  he  said,  evenly,  "take  your  post  in  the 
cellar!     When  my  countrymen  desert  their  land  and 
their  honor,  throw  out  the  bottles,  the  oldest  first. 
No  shirt-sleeves  Yankee  shall  taste  my  wine !" 
"T'row — t'row-ow  it  out,  Massa !" 
"Yes,  and  don't  stand  there  gaping!" 
Marcus  departed.    What  purpose  was  there  in  his 
objections  when  the  mistress's  had  failed?  To  all  that 
she  said  as  she  stood  at  Mr.  Lanley's  side  he  was  as 
oblivious  as  if  she  did  not  exist,  until,  finally,  he 
turned  to  her  and  said: 

"Mean?  What  do  I  mean,  Yolilla?  I  mean  that 
there  is  one  Virginian  who  is  going  to  fight !  I  won't 
leave  the  land  my  fathers  fought  for.  I'll  have  a  life 
or  two  in  return  for  mine.  Oh,  I  know  you,  you  shirt- 
sleeves! You  have  ever  made  the  errors  of  others 
your  tearful  story;  your  nose  is  too  close  to  your 
porridge  to  see  your  own.  You  drove  Roger  Will- 
iams out  of  Connecticut;  you  persecuted  1;he  Quak- 
ers; you  lied  with  pious  faces  in  praying  tones  to  the 
Indians ;  you  burned  poor,  helpless  women  as  witches ! 
So  you're  fit  to  rule  us  and  reform  us!  Fit  to  in- 
vade Virginia,  which  gave  you  your  freedom  after 
your  slinking,  thieving  quartermasters  were  ready  to 
go  on  their  knees  to  the  enemy  and  your  Congress- 
men polluted  the  air  of  Philadelphia  with  slanders 
of  Washington !  Who  wrote  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence? Who  wrote  the  Constitution?  Slave- 
holders! Who  wanted  to  secede  in  1812  in  the  face 
of  a  foreign  enemy?  You  shirt-sleeved  robbers,  I'll 
have  one  shot  at  you!" 


THE  VAGABOND 

Again  begging  him  to  go  below,  Yolilla  put  her 
hand  on  his  arm  coaxingly,  a  method  that  she  had 
tried  in  vain  that  day  for  the  first  time.  A  puff  of 
smoke  rose  from  the  trees  where  Bulwer's  guns  were 
posted,  a  booming  report  broke  the  summer  stillness, 
and  a  shell  bursting  near  the  Federal  line  made  it 
bend  a  little  as  if  it  were  a  long  tape  caught  by  a 
sudden  gust  of  wind;  then  it  straightened  and  seemed 
to  grow  taut  as  if  it  was  prepared  for  a  hurricane. 
With  precision  and  automatic  regularity  Bulwer's 
iron  pets  kept  on  pounding.  He  was  as  happy  as  a 
boy  in  a  ball-game  and  as  cool  and  rigid  as  an  icicle. 
He  watched  the  result  of  every  shell,  passed  a  word 
after  it  to  the  gunners,  and  counted  the  blue  pins 
which  tumbled.  The  Confederate  infantry  fired  and 
fell  back,  fired  and  fell  back,  in  the  good  order  of  a 
feint  mixed  with  the  individual  resentment  of  a  few 
who  lagged  behind  the  others  and  took  careful  aim 
in  expression  of  their  contempt  and  as  much  as  to 
say  that  they  were  going  only  because  they  were  told 
to,  not  at  all  because  they  had  to.  When  they  left 
Bulwer  without  support  and  the  Federals  were  get- 
ting dangerously  near,  he  brought  off  his  battery  at 
the  gallop,  having  done  his  work  so  skilfully  that  it 
seemed  no  more  than  a  playful  mano3uvre. 

Mr.  Lanley  drained  his  bottle  and,  kneeling  with 
rifle  on  the  railing  of  the  platform,  waited  until  he 
was  sure  that  the  enemy  was  in  range.  As  they  hast- 
ened forward,  the  Federals  were  delivering  them- 
selves of  a  scattering  fire,  all  save  a  small  section  im- 
mediately in  front  of  the  house.  A  close  view  would 
have  shown  this  to  be  composed  of  dismounted  cav- 
alry. It  was  conspicuous  for  another  reason,  one 

227 


THE    VAGABOND 

which  its  silent  rifles  permitted;  one  which  had  awak- 
ened in  Bulwer,  whose  undisturbed  gaze  missed  noth- 
ing, admiration  and  amazement,  and  in  General 
Huested  (riding  up  and  down  in  the  rear  of  his  com- 
mand) admiration  and  condemnation  for  its  fool- 
hardiness.  The  Vagabond  was  several  yards  in  ad- 
vance of  his  men,  insuring  the  silence  of  their  rifles 
with  his  own  flesh  as  a  barrier  of  protection  to  the 
Lanley  house. 

"You  are  mine !"  Mr.  Lanley  said,  softly.  "I'm  as 
sure  of  you  as  if  you  were  a  deer  on  a  hillock." 

With  hand  abnormally  steady  and  eye  abnormally 
clear,  he  took  careful  aim.  The  ball  kicked  up  the 
dust  at  its  object's  feet. 

"I  didn't  allow  enough  for  my  elevation,"  he  said, 
as  he  fired  again. 

There  was  no  evidence  of  where  the  bullet  had 
struck.  The  Vagabond  still  came  on  with  the  limita- 
tions of  his  speed  and  the  seeming  certainty  of  fate. 

"Over!"  said  the  marksman.  "The  third  will  do 
it;  just  between  the  other  two." 

This  kicked  up  the  dust  beyond  and  a  little  to  the 
right  of  the  Vagabond. 

"The  wind!"  Mr.  Lanley  snapped  out  the  word 
savagely.  "I'll  allow  for  that  this  time,  too." 

All  the  while  the  target  was  getting  nearer.  You 
could  see  the  flash  of  his  belt-clasp  in  the  sun,  now. 
Mr.  Lanley  smiled  as  mercilessly  as  the  steel  barrel 
whose  sight  lay  on  the  figure  that  sprang  up  on  a 
little  hillock;  and  in  the  second  that  he  was  a  blue 
silhouette  against  the  sky,  the  bullet  was  sped  toward 
the  victim,  who  threw  up  his  hands,  whirled  half 
round  with  the  impact,  and  fell. 

228 


THE    VAGABOND 

His  comrades  abruptly  halted,  as  if  with  his  the 
heart  of  the  charge  stopped  beating  also,  and  their 
fallen  leader  was  obscured  in  a  group  no  sooner 
formed  than  it  spread  into  line  again  under  the  fierce 
direction  of  oath-roaring  Tim  and  sharp-worded  Jim- 
my. It  sprang  ahead,  leaving  a  blue  spot  on  the 
sward  and  began  firing  with  a  revengeful  will.  Vo- 
lilla  heard  the  bullets  thripping  through  the  branches 
of  the  trees  with  the  peculiar  sound  that  an  old 
soldier  would  recognize  instantly  in  the  quietest 
garden  cloister.  Mr.  Lanley  heard  nothing.  Voicing 
his  triumph  with  a  cry  that  there  was  one  invader 
less,  he  had  reloaded  his  rifle  and  was  about  to  take 
aim  when  he  saw  the  stricken  man  rise  and,  stagger- 
ing a  little,  in  the  manner  of  one  who  has  been 
stunned,  soon  find  his  feet  and,  catching  up  with  his 
men,  stop  their  firing  and  once  more  take  his  place 
at  their  head. 

Mr.  Lanley  dropped  his  rifle  as  if  he  had  seen  an 
apparition.  All  his  careful  shooting  had  gone  for 
naught.  His  coolness  and  deliberation  passed  into  in- 
sane rage.  He  made  his  way  down  the  stairs  in  a 
fever  of  haste,  stumbling  many  times  but  not  falling, 
and  crying  as  he  went: 

"This  comes  of  the  great  State  of  Virginia  putting 
herself  in  the  hands  of  Beauregard — of  a  little 
Frenchman  from  New  Orleans!" 

At  the  door  he  heard  the  triumphant  cries  of  the 
Vagabonds,  who  ran  with  their  bayonets  as  stiffly 
held  as  the  quills  of  a  porcupine.  The  Confederates 
were  no  longer  feigning;  they  were  falling  back  in 
deadly  earnest.  Mr.  Lanley's  last  spasmodic  effort  in 
life  was  to  try  to  rally  them: 

229 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Are  you.  men  or  are  you  pickaninnies?"  he 
shouted.  "Stand!  stand,  and  they'll  stop!  they'll 
stop!" 

If  the  runners  heard,  with  the  roar  of  musketry 
in  their  ears  and  bullets  from  other  parts  of  the  Fed- 
eral line  whistling  near,  they  did  not  heed.  Mr.  Lan- 
ley  plunged  headlong  upon  the  gravel  of  the  drive 
on  the  very  spot  where  from  boyhood  he  had  mounted 
his  horse  to  ride  forth  and  survey  his  domain. 

Volilla,  who  had  followed,  saw  the  blood  trickling 
from  a  wound  in  his  side.  She  leaned  over  him  and 
put  her  handkerchief  to  the  spot.  The  handkerchief 
grew  red  as  quickly  as  a  sponge  saps  up  water. 

"It  wasn't  one  of  our  shots." 

She  looked  up  on  hearing  these  words  spoken  in  a 
voice  of  great  relief  to  the  speaker's  self  as  much  as 
to  her.  The  Vagabond  was  standing  beside  her,  a 
trickling  red  streak  on  his  cheek;  his  men  were  rush- 
ing by  in  the  tumult  of  chase.  She  made  no  reply. 
He  bent  down,  putting  his  own  handkerchief  over 
hers  helplessly.  Mr.  Lanley  opened  his  lips  feebly. 

"There  was  a  French  nobleman  in  the  Revolution 
who  when  he  saw  the  inevitable  was — he  invited  his 
peasants  to  a  banquet — and  blew  chateau  and  all  to 
kingdom  come.  I — I  had  no  gunpowder.  Trust — 
trust  yourself  to  Southbridge!  Thank  God,  there's 
still  one  of — the — old — school " 

There  his  words  died  in  his  throat.  A  medical  of- 
ficer who  came  hastening  at  the  sight  of  a  casualty 
knelt  and  found  that  his  skill  .was  powerless.  Shock 
had  killed  Mr.  Lanley  before  loss  of  blood  could. 

"I  knew  it,"  Volilla  said,  slowly,  as  she  rose  to  her 
feet. 

230 


THE  VAGABOND 

She  looked  around  for  a  servant,  not  wishing,  such 
was  her  grief  and  anger,  to  ask  the  least  favor  from 
the  invader.  The  Vagabond  understood.  He  and 
three  of  his  men  lifted  the  body  gently.  With  her 
leading,  they  carried  him  upstairs  to  his  own  room, 
where  they  laid  him  on  the  bed.  The  men  tiptoed  out 
in  silence  and  awe,  leaving  the  two  alone  with  the 
dead.  He  felt  himself  held  by  a  desire  for  forgiveness 
for  the  part  he  had  played  in  this  tragedy,  yet  know- 
ing that  no  words  to  express  it  would  be  forthcoming. 
As  he  looked  at  the  face  below  him,  with  the  high 
nose,  its  cartilage  showing  white,  the  mouth  set  in  a 
proud  curve,  the  silvery  hair  in  disorder,  he  thought 
of  his  own  father  and  recognized  in  the  two  some- 
thing in  common.  He  closed  the  eyes,  crossed  the 
withered  hands,  and  tried  to  straighten  out  the  coat, 
with  a  sense  of  gratitude  for  some  occupation,  while 
he  still  groped  for  an  expression  of  his  overwhelming 
sympathy  and  regret.  When  he  raised  his  head,  Miss 
Lanley  was  standing  still  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  in  the  agony  of  her  face  he  saw  plainly  enough 
that  she  waited  on  his  departure. 

"He  was  a  brave  old  man,"  he  said,  slowly,  as  if 
trying  to  make  the  words  convey  all  he  felt. 

"I  need  no  Yankee  to  tell  me  that,"  she  replied. 
"He  was  my  grandfather.  I  have  neither  father  nor 
mother  nor  brother  nor  sister."  He  bowed  his  head. 
"All  I  ask  is  this  room,"  she  continued.  "The  rest 
is — yours." 

"I — I  understand,"  he  said;  and  with  that  he  left 
her,  still  dry-eyed,  to  her  grief. 

Not  an  order  but  awe  held  his  men's  curiosity  in 
leash.  None  except  those  who  bore  the  body  had 

231 


THE    VAGABOND 

entered  the  house.  The  Vagabond,  having  this  fear 
in  mind,  made  a  search.  In  the  dining-room  he  found 
Aikens,  who  had  long  looked  forward  to  the  day 
when,  hanging  onto  a  column  of  soldiers,  he  should 
see  his  old  employer  humiliated.  The  green  face 
took  on  a  deeper  shade  as  he  was  made  to  empty  his 
pockets  of  silver;  then,  in  the  impatience  of  disgust, 
his  captor  seized  him  by  the  coat-collar  and  in  the 
presence  of  grinning  soldiers  pump-handled  him  out 
of  the  house,  bidding  him  go  to  the  rear  on  pain  of 
something  worse.  And  Aikens  was  one  who  never 
forgot. 

As  the  flying  skirt  of  a  linen  duster  disappeared 
under  the  trees,  his  troopers  gathered  around  their 
Captain  with  comments  droll  and  congratulatory. 
When  the  doctor  called  for  water  to  dress  his 
wound,  all  started  on  the  errand.  When  the  blood 
was  washed  away,  only  the  track  of  bare  skull  left 
by  a  glancing  ball  remained. 

"What  your  little  lieutenant  wants  to  know,"  said 
Tim  Booker,  "is  whether  you  wasn't  killed  because 
you  nodded  in  the  nick  of  time  or  because  you 
didn't." 

"Dodged  it,  of  course.  If  ever  you  see  one  com- 
ing, you  do  the  same  or  you'll  be  sorry,  Timothy." 

He  held  the  privacy  of  the  old  house  as  sacred  as 
that  of  any  emperor's  closet.  There  was  no  need  of 
turning  it  into  a  fort  when  there  was  no  enemy  in 
sight.  Through  the  rest  of  the  morning  and  the  after- 
noon no  one  passed  the  guards  and  no  sound  came 
from  the  interior,  save  the  occasional  foot-fall  of  a 
servant.  For  him  the  minutes  were  hours.  His  real- 
ization of  her  agony  was  only  less  horrible  than  the 

232 


THE  VAGABOND 

conviction  that  he  could  do  nothing  to  ease  it.  When 
she  startled  him  by  appearing  in  the  door-way,  he  was 
pacing  up  and  down  under  the  trees.  She  did  not 
seem  to  be  speaking  to  him,  but  to  someone  miles 
away,  as  she  asked  for  permission  to  bury  her  grand- 
father. 

The  soldiers  dug  the  grave.  Beyond  that,  she  re- 
fused all  assistance,  even  a  military  salute,  which  the 
Vagabond  offered.  At  some  other  time,  when  there 
were  friends  present,  there  should  be  a  ceremony, 
she  told  herself.  Wrapped  in  a  Confederate  flag  of 
her  making,  the  body  was  borne  by  the  servants  and 
lowered  to  its  resting-place,  while  the  Vagabonds, 
officers  and  men,  stood  in  a  circle  at  some  distance, 
silent,  with  heads  bared.  As  she  turned  away,  her 
face,  because  her  eyes  were  still  dry,  was  the  more 
expressive  of  the  depth  of  her  proud  and  controlled 
misery. 

She  came  direct  to  where  the  Vagabond  was  stand- 
ing and  asked  if  she  might  be  conducted  to  the  Con- 
federate lines.  He  assented,  without  thought  that 
she  might  carry  information  to  the  enemy.  Her 
own  horse,  his  accoutrements  intact  and  still  watched 
by  the  orderly,  was  brought  to  the  door.  She  started 
at  sight  of  her  beloved  Folly;  gave  his  neck  a  fond 
stroke ;  said,  "Thank  you  for  bringing  him,"  without 
looking  up ;  refused  the  Union  hand  that  was  offered, 
and  called  for  Marcus  to  assist  her  to  mount.  The 
Vagabond  himself,  under  a  white  flag,  rode  beside 
her  toward  the  valley.  For  some  time  they  pro- 
ceeded in  silence,  which  she  at  last  broke. 

"I  must  tell  you — it's  right  I  should,"  she  said. 
"I  am  going  because  I  know  my  grandfather  would 

233 


THE  VAGABOND. 

wish  it.  I  think  our  brave  fellows  might  desist  from 
attacking  on  my  account.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  in  the 
way  of  their  duty.  They  must  know  that  they 
may  burn  the  house  and  raze  the  very  trees  to  the 
ground  if  it  will  enable  them  to  win  a  victory." 

This  explained  why  she  had  hastened  her  grand- 
father's burial.  It  showed  the  quality  of  the  woman 
and,  measurably,  the  quality  of  her  race;  it  told  the 
Vagabond  again  how  wisely  he  had  chosen. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  going,  if  you  wish  to  go,"  he 
said. 

A  solitary  horseman  came  riding  rapidly  out  to 
meet  them,  as  if  he  feared  that  the  white  flag  might 
get  near  enough  to  the  camp  to  discern  that  only  a 
rear-guard  of  cavalry  now  defended  it.  The  Vaga- 
bond drew  rein  and  awaited  him.  The  two  saluted 
stiffly. 

"This  lady  wishes  to  enter  the  Confederate  lines," 
the  Vagabond  said. 

"Very  well,"  was  Southbridge's  reply. 

Southbridge  saluted — stiffly.  The  Vagabond  sa- 
luted— stiffly.  Volilla  rode  to  Southbridge's  side  and 
impulsively  put  her  hand  on  his  arm.  She  was  among 
friends  again,  and  it  looked  as  if  her  sorrow  would 
find  an  outlet  in  tears  and  her  head  would  go  upon 
the  shoulder  of  the  one  to  whose  care  her  grandfa- 
ther's dying  words  had  intrusted  her.  But  her  figure 
straightened  and  she  recovered  her  reserve. 

"Oh,  I'd  like  to  have  ridden  through  and  through 
you!  My  General  kept  me  back  here,"  Southbridge 
called,  in  his  bitter  wrath.  "I  shall  cross  sabres  with 
you  yet!" 

"I  long  for  the  pleasure,"  said  the  Vagabond. 

They  saluted  again  and  faced  about. 
234 


XXV 

FATHEB    BOB    ILLUSTRATES 

While  Volilla  was  sobbing  in  the  arms  of  Mrs.  Bul- 
wer,  the  Vagabonds,  under  orders  which  awaited 
their  Captain  on  his  return,  were  leaving  Lanleyton 
to  the  care  of  a  regiment  of  infantry.  Shortly  before 
dusk  they  found  General  Huested  on  another  road, 
the  direct  road  from  Washington  to  the  battle-field 
of  Bull  Eun.  He  sat  on  a  fence-rail  watching  the 
passage  of  troops,  who  promised  themselves  that  after 
the  fight  of  the  morrow  they  could  meander  on  to 
Richmond  and  end  the  "rebellion."  The  Vagabond, 
who  had  wondered,  as  his  company  rode  single  file  at 
one  side  of  the  marching  column,  why  everyone 
looked  at  him  so  sharply,  realized  the  cause  when 
the  General  mentioned  the  bandage  that  encircled 
his  head.  Twenty-four  hours  later  a  wounded  man 
was  not  a  curiosity;  and  he  was  not  to  be  for  four 
years  to  come. 

"Fresh  and  ready  for  work,  eh?"  said  the  General. 
"Well,  I  have  it  for  you.  I  want  you  to  join  me  as 
aide  to-morrow." 

After  training  his  men  for  months  against  the 
day  when  they  should  gallop  across  a  plain  plying 
their  sabres,  he  was  to  be  made  an  errand-boy!  Such 
was  his  view,  at  least. 

"I'd  rather — rather  fight,  sir." 
235 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Oh,  you'll  have  a  whiff  of  powder,  don't  you 
worry — more  than  you'll  have  back  there  guarding 
trains;  for  that  will  be  the  lot  of  the  horsemen  to- 
morrow." 

"What!" 

The  word  came  in  a  piercing,  nasal  shriek  from 
Tim  Booker,  who  nearly  fell  on  his  horse's  mane  in 
disappointment.  It  was  a  most  unmilitary  interrup- 
tion, which  six  months  before  in  the  regulars  would 
have  brought  trouble  to  the  speaker  from  that  same 
General  who  now  received  it  good-humoredly. 

"You  wait,  my  son.  There's  going  to  be  enough 
bruises  in  this  war  to  accommodate  everybody" — and 
the  General  cut  short  his  sentence  for  fear  that  the 
men  should  hear  the  opinion  of  an  officer  who  knew 
his  enemy.  "You  wait,"  he  added. 

"I'm  waiting  and  growing  gray,  and  mebbe  when 
I'm  too  old  to  put  a  foot  in  a  stirrup  I'll  get  a  chance 
to  draw  my  sabre,"  Tim  remarked,  in  an  undertone ; 
while  to  Jimmy  Pool  he  grumbled  on:  "That  king 
of  France  who  marched  his  men  up  a  hill  and  down 

again  wasn't  such  a  d n  fool  after  all.  He  learned 

something  by  experience.  History  don't  record  that 
he  marched  'em  up  and  down  three  or  four  times, 
like  we've  been  doing!" 

At  the  General's  dictation  Lieutenant  Maxim 
wrote  out  Acting  Captain  Jimmy  Pool's  orders  for 
the  morrow.  Then  the  staff  mounted.  As  it  rode 
forward,  the  Vagabond  turned  and  waved  his  hand 
in  farewell  to  his  men  and  they  replied  with  swing- 
ing caps  and  a  hurrah. 

Ahead  of  them  and  behind  them  was  the  dusty 
blue  column  winding  with  the  road,  and  in  their  ears 

236 


THE  VAGABOND 

the  clink  of  canteens  and  the  plunk  of  feet  in  the  hot 
dust.  Dust,  dust,  dust!  The  very  cloud  of  it  over- 
head hung  in  the  still  air  as  if  in  suspense  over  the  is- 
sue of  the  morrow.  Here  was  a  good  regiment  and 
there  a  bad  one,  thanks  to  the  popularity  of  militia 
service  in  the  section  from  which  it  was  drawn,  to 
locality  itself  and  to  the  character  of  its  officers.  One 
in  particular  instantly  held  attention  as  it  approached 
because  its  caps  were  red  and  not  of  the  regulation 
pattern.  It  marched  slouchily,  grudgingly,  as  a  tru- 
ant going  to  school  under  personal  conduct.  Its  time 
had  expired  that  night  and  it  had  a  mind  to  turn  in 
its  tracks  and  go  home,  not  out  of  cowardice  but  out 
of  homesickness,  cussedness,  and  belief  that  it  had 
been  ill  treated.  The  most  erect  one  of  the  lot 
marched  in  the  rear,  keeping  stragglers  in  line.  To 
these  men,  whom  he  had  drilled  without  prejudice,  he 
was  known  as  "Granddad,"  "Drill-'em  Granddad." 
Looking  at  his  back,  only  the  rim  of  white  hair  un- 
der his  cap  revealed  his  age.  The  General  and  his 
new  aide  recognized  him  at  the  same  instant. 

"Captain  Herrick!"  exclaimed  the  General.  "I 
know  of  one  regiment  that  will  do  its  duty  to-mor- 
row." 

"And  it  please  God,  yes,  sir." 

The  voice  was  firm  enough,  though  the  hand  that 
he  raised  to  his  cap  trembled  with  the  physical  strain 
that  his  will  made  his  flesh  bear. 

"A  man  of  your  years  ought  not  to  be  on  foot," 
said  the  General,  indignantly.  "Haven't  you  a 
horse?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Only  I'm  just  demonstrating  to  my 
men  that  twenty  miles's  no  march  at  all." 

237 


THE    VAGABOND 

"For  that  matter,  Captain,  you're  not  supposed  to 
be  out  here,  anyway.  You  have  done  your  share  in 
by-gone  days.  You  are  supposed  to  drill  these  men, 
not  to  fight  them.  Your  assignment  is  purely  auxil- 
iary. But  I  understand.  You  may  be  worth  a  regi- 
ment to-morrow,  and  I  am  too  selfish  to  send  you 
back." 

"Yes,  sir.    I  hope  to  steady  'em  a  leetle." 

The  Vagabond  had  dismounted,  and  while  the 
General  spoke  he  seemed  as  much  a  stranger  to 
Father  Bob  as  the  rest  of  the  staff.  He  saw  that  the 
Captain  had  grown  older,  thinner,  whiter,  in  the 
week  since  they  had  met.  When  the  General  passed 
on,  he  put  his  arms  around  the  old  man. 

"Don't  go !  Don't  go !  I'll  do  enough  fighting  for 
the  family,"  he  pleaded. 

"I  owe  it  to  my  God  and  my  country  to  see  this 
regiment  through  its  baptism.  Come,  son,  we 
mustn't  wait.  You  must  catch  up  with  the  General, 
and  I  with  my  boys." 

Their  last  words  to  each  other  were  warnings  to  be 
careful.  They  did  not  meet  again  until  the  next  day 
when  the  battle  had  been  in  progress  for  some  time. 

Through  the  smoke,  to  guns  that  flashed  fire  in  the 
blue  darkness,  to  lines  that  sagged  and  to  lines  that 
were  advancing  with  shouts,  and  back  again  to  his 
General,  the  Vagabond  had  been  kept  on  the  gallop. 
Occasionally  passing  out  of  the  theatre  of  action  he 
had  a  glimpse  of  the  road  swollen  with  the  tide  of 
human  beings.  Congressmen  had  come  to  give  the 
boys  from  their  districts  the  cheer  of  their  presence ; 
officials  had  brought  their  wives.  Every  available 
carriage  in  "Washington  was  mixed  with  the  supply 

238 


THE    VAGABOND 

wagons,  while  the  slightly  wounded  and  the  explan- 
atory sick  bore  news  in  exchange  for  sympathy.  It 
was  a  crowd  waiting  for  the  army  to  open  the  gates — 
a  simple  matter — so  it  could  see  the  spectacle  of 
Richmond  once  more  in  loyal  hands.  With  the  ru- 
mor of  success  creeping  and  dodging  back  from  the 
roaring  and  rattling  clouds  in  front,  it  pressed  for- 
ward with  individual  desire  for  good  seats.  Then, 
out  of  the  clouds,  came  men  and  guns,  flying  with  no 
purpose  except  flight,  and  the  onlookers  in  front  were 
caught  between  two  forces,  just  as  when  the  police 
clear  the  way  for  a  parade. 

At  this  juncture,  General  Huested,  seeming  a  part 
of  his  horse  and  his  horse  seeming  a  part  of  the  earth 
beneath  its  feet,  surveyed  the  field  and  grasped  the 
situation.  Upon  his  brigade,  his  green  brigade,  de- 
pended the  line  of  communication.  He  turned  his 
attention  to  the  two  regiments  on  his  left.  On  the 
right  he  had  Captain  Herrick  and  the  Red  Caps,  and 
he  sent  the  Vagabond  to  tell  the  Captain  to  hold  out 
at  any  cost  until  reinforcements  should  be  brought 
up.  The  Red  Caps  were  on  a  ridge  which  bent  slight- 
ly toward  the  road,  but  not  presenting  any  range  for 
a  cross-fire.  Bare-headed,  under  the  terrific  sun  of 
that  famous  July  day,  Captain  Herrick  was  walking 
up  and  down,  exposing  his  whole  person;  and  he  was 
talking  in  the  same  manner  that  he  walked — jauntily, 
with  the  oblivious  air  of  optimism  of  a  man  smok- 
ing a  cigar  after  a  good  dinner.  He  had  neither 
sword  nor  revolver;  his  weapon  was  the  men  hug- 
ging the  ground  at  his  feet,  which  he  handled  with 
a  fencing-master's  skill. 

"Shooting  clean  over  us!  Pipped  a  few,  that's 
239 


THE  VAGABOND 

true ;  one  out  of  fifty,  mebbe.  That  isn't  war !  That's 
Fourth  of  July !  Take  your  time ;  shoot  low.  Pretty 
soon  they're  going  to  charge.  They'll  look  big  and 
they'll  yell  hard,  but  they'll  be  just  our  marks;  yes, 
sir,  just  our  apple-pie !  You've  only  got  to  lie  steady 
and  you'll  lie  here  all  day — travelling's  hard  work 
in  such  a  hot  sun,  anyway — and  in  the  evening  we'll 
go  out  and  help  bury  those  buckies.  Hello!  That 
officer  went  down !  One  of  our  dandy  Jims  sent  his 
horse  out  to  graze.  Looks  like  a  good  horse,  too. 
Guess  I  know  a  man  that  won't  have  to  walk  to-mor- 
row." 

A  big  hoarse-voiced  private  sprang  up  and  seized 
hold  of  the  Captain  hysterically. 

"By  G — !"  he  cried.  "I'm  not  going  to  see  you 
shot  all  to  pieces.  You've  got  to  get  down-n-n !" 

The  words  were  scarcely  spoken  when  a  bullet 
passed  through  his  head,  leaving  him  to  fall  as  the 
woodsman's  axe  leaves  the  tree. 

"There!"  said  Father  Bob,  "didn't  I  tell  you  so, 
boys?  Let  the  fellows  over  there  get  up  and  we'll 
fix  'em  quick  enough — if  we  just  lie  close  and  shoot 
straight." 

One  charge  had  been  repelled,  and  the  Confed- 
erates were  preparing  for  a  second,  to  which  they 
proposed  to  bring  more  men  and  an  extended  line. 
Under  cover,  on  the  very  flank  of  the  Red  Caps,  the 
Vagabond  could  see  the  gleaming  bayonets  in  wait 
for  the  word  which,  in  their  sure  estimate,  was  to 
finish  the  business.  A  gust  of  wind  driving  the  smoke 
away,  their  leader  saw  the  guidon  of  his  own  troop 
fluttering  not  a  thousand  yards  away.  He  put  his 
lips  to  Captain  Herrick's  ear. 

240 


THE  VAGABOND 

"For  God's  sake,  yes!"  was  the  whispered  reply. 
"They're  bound  to  crumple  up  like  paper.  I'm  only 
trying  to  keep  'em  steady  so  I  can  bring  'em  to  that 
hill  back  there  in  order.  No,  no!  Don't!  It's 
suicide.  It's  only  a  drop  of  water  on  the  flames." 

The  Vagabond  did  not  wait  for  him  to  finish  the 
sentence.  He  was  all  aglow  with  a  clear,  definite  ob- 
ject. No  general  would  have  undertaken  to  order 
him  where  he  was  about  to  go,  into  the  very  jaws  of 
death,  with  every  tooth  a  point  of  fire.  The  concep- 
tion was  worthy  of  the  boy  who  wanted  to  climb  a 
mountain  and  find  a  mine;  of  a  vagabond  and  a 
dreamer,  confidently  falling  in  love  with  a  Confed- 
erate girl. 


241 


XXVI 

BULLETS  HAVE  NO  SENTIMENT 

With  the  battle  roaring  in  front  of  them — poor, 
starving  wretches  outside  the  banquet-room  window 
— the  Vagabonds,  chafing  in  their  inaction,  their 
sweat  turning  dust  into  grime,  had  kept  their  place 
on  the  line  of  communication.  Every  man  of  them 
was  a  physical  apotheosis  of  dust  and  enforced  idle- 
ness. Jimmy  Pool  had  been  heard  to  make  one  re- 
mark besides  orders  that  morning.  This  he  repeated 
several  times.  He  seemed  to  unroll  the  word  which 
began  with  H  from  a  spool  of  gall. 

Among  those  who  had  carriages  was  Miss  Felicia 
Hope,  of  the  Sanitary  Commission,  perched  on  a  car- 
go of  delicacies  and  bandages.  She  turned  red  at  the 
sight  of  a  trooper  who  was  squatted  on  the  ground 
with  his  reins  over  his  forearm. 

"Good-morning,  Judge!"  she  called. 

He  lifted  his  cap,  and  after  a  swift  look  of  recog- 
nition and  surprise  settled  back  to  the  exclusiveness 
of  the  ranks. 

"Good-morning,  ma'am,"  he  remarked,  pleasantly. 

For  the  first  time  when  they  met,  Miss  Felicia  and 
not  the  Judge  was  flustered. 

"How  thin  you've  grown!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  ma'am.  Thirty  pounds.  That  was  my  ora- 
torical part;  entirely  superfluous.  Ask  the  horse!" 
came  the  short  sentences  of  the  one-time  rhetorician. 

242 


THE  VAGABOND 

"Are  you  quite  well  ?" 

"Perfectly.  Ride  thirty  miles  and  feel  nothing 
except  an  appetite." 

She  could  not  help  seeing  that  he  was  handsomer 
from  the  change;  and  there  he  sat,  immovable,  tan- 
talizing, inconsiderate. 

"I  have  some  cake.  Perhaps  you  would  like  a 
piece,"  she  ventured. 

"No,  thank  you,  ma'am.  Not  used  to  luxuries! 
Don't  like  'em  now!" 

He  took  his  stubby  clay  pipe  and  filled  it  and,  hav- 
ing fished  out  a  dirty  match  from  his  pocket,  lighted 
the  tobacco  and  blew  a  huge  puff  of  smoke  with  most 
earthly  satisfaction. 

"Have  you  taken  to  smoking  a  clay  pipe?"  she 
asked,  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  ma'am.  This  one's  just  ripe.  I  sleep  with 
it  under  my  saddle  every  night  for  fear  the  other 
fellows'll  hook  it." 

"O-oh!"  she  gasped.  "Where  is  the  Vagabond? 
I  don't  see  him." 

"The  Vagabond,  ma'am?" 

"You  know  who  I  mean.  Captain  "Williams!"  she 
replied,  gingerly. 

"He's  not  with  the  command,  ma'am.  Privates 
are  not  supposed  to  ask  where  their  officers  go." 

"My!  How  you  have  changed!"  she  cried,  in  a 
temper. 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"I  suppose  you're  sorry  enough  now  that  you  en- 
listed?" 

"No,  ma'am.  I  like  this  kind  of  life  when  the 
boys  don't  hook  my  pipe.  I'm  very  fond  of  that, 

243 


THE  VAGABOND 

ma'am.  I  let  Hosea  Pillsbury,  my  bunkie,  smoke  it 
in  return  for  helping  watch  it.  Hosea's  quit  drinking 
entirely.  Says  he  never  would  have  drunk  at  all  if 
he'd  known  there  was  a  pipe  in  the  world  like  this." 

She  pressed  her  lips  lest  she  should  say  something 
for  which  she  would  be  sorry. 

"Lieutenant  Pool  is  commanding,  then?"  she  man- 
aged to  say. 

"Yes,  ma'am."  He  nodded  toward  Jimmy  and 
touched  his  hat  disinterestedly. 

Jimmy,  it  has  already  been  observed,  was  not  in  a 
jovial  humor.  When  she  asked  where  was  the  best 
place  for  the  distribution  of  her  delicacies,  he  replied : 

"Washington,  ma'am." 

"Brute!"  she  said,  and  bade  her  driver  proceed. 

"No,  ma'am.  I  can't  let  one  of  your  sex  go  any 
farther,"  Jimmy  said. 

The  sight  of  a  fellow  with  his  handkerchief  around 
his  fingers  straggling  to  the  rear  with  faint  account 
of  a  great  victory  led  her  to  accept  the  inevitable. 
Though  he  had  had  only  the  skin  braised,  he  got  a 
huge  piece  of  sponge-cake  and  a  bottle  of  ginger-ale, 
the  while  he  told  how  the  rebels  ran  and  he  avoided 
the  searching  gray  eyes  of  Jimmy  Pool. 

Thus,  all  Miss  Felicia's  delicacies  went  to  the  fast- 
travelling,  over-happy  ones — heroes  she  called  them 
— who  had  a  scratch  on  the  extremities,  not  always 
made  by  a  bullet,  either.  She  had  none  left  for  the 
fellows  with  real  wounds  and  the  comatose  burdens 
of  litters  which  came  still  later.  '  The  panorama  be- 
fore her  swiftly  picturing  sinister  truths,  she  began 
to  realize  the  horror  of  righting  wrongs  with  the 
sword,  which  knows  only  skill  and  power.  Furtively, 

244 


THE    VAGABOND 

the  Judge  watched  her  every  movement  as,  nervous, 
trembling,  and  yet  cool,  she  flew  from  one  victim  to 
another,  praying,  whispering  peace,  and  doing  all  that 
a  woman  could  to  assist  a  surgeon  on  the  battle-field. 
She  fairly  hated  Jimmy  Pool  (languidly  sitting  on 
a  stump).  Had  he  not  warned  her  to  keep  her  good- 
ies for  a  better  cause  ?  And  weren't  there  dying  men 
of  high  courage  crying  for  water,  with  emptied  soda 
and  ginger-ale  bottles  lying  about,  while  the  skulkers 
who  had  drunk  their  fill  were  meandering  on  out  of 
danger's  reach  expectorating  tobacco-juice  by  the 
way? 

Meanwhile,  Jimmy  had  been  as  practical  as  ever. 
He  had  her  carriage  turned  about  facing  Washing- 
ton. When  he  saw  the  road  at  the  edge  of  the  wall 
of  smoke  swelling  like  a  bladder,  he  understood  what 
that  meant  and  approached  Miss  Felicia. 

"I  advise  you  to  go,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "We're  be- 
ing driven  back." 

"Driven  back!"  she  exclaimed.  Her  righteous 
cause  being  driven  back!  Driven  back,  when  they 
were  to  have  been  in  Richmond  in  a  week ! 

"Yes,  ma'am.  Somebody  has  to  be.  The  Con- 
federates have  more  men,  or  they  are  doing  better 
work  than  we  are  to-day.  War's  a  great  science  and 
war's  also  hell,  I'm  sorry  to  say."  Jimmy  did  not 
mean  to  be  rude.  He  was  thick  with  disgust,  which 
influenced  his  well-intentioned  explanation. 

"I  won't!"  Miss  Felicia  cried,  and  went  on  taking 
the  death-bed  message  of  a  fine,  blue-eyed  Massachu- 
setts boy  who  thought  that  he  was  dying,  but  who 
was  to  live  to  fight  in  other  battles. 

"Then  we'll  wait  a  moment,  ma'am,"  Jimmy  re- 
245 


THE    VAGABOND 

marked,  respectfully,  judging  the  while  "by  the  ap- 
proach of  the  inflated  part  of  the  road. 

Directly,  something  passed  over  their  heads  with  a 
whish  and  buried  itself  in  the  ground  beyond  them. 
The  next  one  broke  and  killed — actually  killed — a 
skulker.  Jimmy  stepped  over  to  the  Judge  and  spoke 
a  matter-of-fact  word  or  two.  The  Judge  ran  to  Miss 
Felicia,  who  had  looked  up  on  hearing  the  crack  of 
the  bursting  shell  and  then  gone  on  easing  the  posi- 
tion of  a  man  on  a  stretcher.  At  that  moment  she 
was  divinely  feminine  in  her  courage.  If  he  realized 
this  he  did  not  say  so.  He  merely  observed: 

"It's  time,  ma'am." 

"I  won't!"  she  cried  back. 

"Then  I'll  carry  you!" 

He  advanced  a  step;  she  saw  that  he  would  be  as 
good  as  his  word. 

"You  sha'n't !"  she  cried,  and  ran  to  her  carriage. 

The  instant  she  was  seated,  the  driver  put  the  whip 
to  the  horses. 

On  his  part,  the  Judge  heard  the  call  to  mount. 
In  their  rigid  formation  four  deep,  the  Vagabonds 
were  the  only  stable  living  thing  on  the  road.  The 
sight  of  them  sitting  their  horses  so  steadily  was 
cooling  to  fevered  brains  that  pictured  the  world  in 
chaos.  Jimmy  Pool  was  in  the  act  of  spinning  out 
the  little  word  beginning  with  H,  when  he  saw  his 
leader  flying  toward  them,  and  his  face  suddenly 
lighted  with  glorious  joy.  He  understood  the  mean- 
ing of  the  madly  waved  cap  before  he  could  hear  the 
Vagabond's  voice.  The  men  understood,  too.  With 
common  impulse,  they  wheeled  into  line. 

246 


xxvn 

AT    LAST    A    CHARGE 

A  charge !  A  charge !  Cavalry-men  live  in  thought 
of  it  and  die  unsatisfied,  thinking  of  what  they  would 
have  done  if  they  had  had  the  opportunity.  When 
it  comes  it  is  like  having  one  great  draught  of  cham- 
pagne in  a  lifetime,  so  quickly  is  it  over,  so  thrilling 
is  it.  The  mimic  thing  of  the  parade-ground  is  a  meal 
off  plates  without  food. 

The  Vagabonds  had  spread  out  until  the  sabre-tip 
of  one  rider  could  not  reach  that  of  another.  The 
horses  themselves  had  caught  the  fever  of  expecta- 
tion and  their  nostrils  dilated  as  the  imaginations  of 
their  riders  soared.  From  the  distance  came  the 
yell  that  said  that  the  Confederates  had  sprung  from 
cover  to  the  assault.  Their  footsteps  were  ticking 
off  the  time  until  they  should  hold  the  Red  Caps  pris- 
oners or,  gasping  for  breath  from  their  run,  gloat- 
ingly make  the  backs  of  the  Red  Caps  targets. 

All  the  Vagabonds'  hearts  rose  gleefully  to  the 
occasion  save  one ;  all  had  no  sense  of  fear,  no  thought 
of  the  result,  save  one,  and  that  was  you,  you  big, 
hulking,  bewhiskered  miner,  Tim  Booker !  He  could 
feel  his  legs  knocking  nervously  against  his  horse's 
sides ;  to  steady  his  hands  he  seized  the  pommel.  He 
laughed  hysterically;  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks, 
and  his  voice,  rising  to  a  high  tremolo,  broke. 

"Oh,  God  Almighty!    "Why  did  I  ever  leave  the 


THE  VAGABOND 

peace  of  the  eternal  hills  of  California!"  he  called. 
"We'll  all  be  butchered,  killed,  and  slaughtered! 
There's  eleven  million  rebels  waiting  to  swallow  us 
alive!" 

Thus  he  bawled  his  fears  till,  reaching  the  rising 
ground,  they  saw  the  hurrying  gray  figures  in  a  long 
line  before  them,  running  with  the  precipitation  of 
men  hastening  from  a  mine  about  to  explode.  Haste 
meant  safety  to  them ;  haste  to  reach  the  enemy's  posi- 
tion. A  bullet  whistling  near  Tim's  ear  suddenly 
changed  the  face  of  the  world  for  him.  His  legs 
stiffened  in  the  stirrups ;  he  felt  the  strength  of  Her- 
cules in  his  arm. 

"Slash  'em!  Mince  'em!  Chop  'em!  Eat  'em  up!" 
he  yelled.  "We're  cannibals,  savage  cannibals !  Eat 
'em  up!  Eat  'em  up!" 

To  the  General,  now  hastening  toward  the  right 
with  reinforcements  of  reformed  men  struggling 
somewhere  behind  him,  that  charge  seemed  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  jumping  off  the  earth  with  the 
chance  of  alighting  safely  on  a  star. 

"They'll  simply  be  gobbled  up,  that's  all,"  he 
thought,  "and  thank  God  for  a  desperate  stroke  of 
genius  that  will  give  us  a  little  breathing-space." 
Then  he  bade  the  last  member  of  his  staff  with  him 
to  go  back  and  help  the  others  to  curse  and  pray  with 
and  wheedle  the  reinforcements — anything  to  get 
them  up. 

"Not  facing  but  at  right  angles  to  it,  the  Vagabonds 
were  precipitated  from  the  rising  ground  against  the 
Confederate  infantry.  The  position  was  much  the 
same  as  if  a  line  of  mounted  police  descended  upon 
scattered  people  all  intent  upon  crossing  the  street; 

248 


THE    VAGABOND 

only  these  people  were  determined  men  with  rifles 
and  bayonets.  The  charge  came  upon  them  with  the 
shock  and  surprise  of  a  wire  stretched  across  the  path 
of  a  pedestrian  at  night.  They  turned  with  the  rage 
of  one  suddenly  balked  of  his  prize.  In  that  instant, 
when  the  Red  Caps  had  ceased  to  fire  and  had  risen 
to  cheer  the  appearance  of  deliverance  unexpected, 
the  Confederates  heard  the  tumult  of  hoofs  inter- 
mingled with  the  booming  of  field  guns  and  saw 
foaming  nostrils  over  their  heads.  Each  man  became 
an  absolute  unit  again,  dodging,  shooting,  or  thrust- 
ing, while  the  Vagabonds,  as  they  rode,  looked  down 
on  faces  all  forgetful  of  corps  in  that  vital  second, 
all  murderously  keen  upon  self-preservation.  Steel 
blades  whistled  through  the  air,  sometimes  encoun- 
tering steel,  sometimes  finding  flesh,  and  again  rising 
to  another  blow  without  resistance.  Horses  stumbled 
and  fell,  throwing  their  riders  overhead  into  the  arms 
of  an  enemy,  the  host  being  as  surprised  as  the  guest. 
Horses  with  empty  saddles  rode  on  in  the  mad  com- 
panionship of  havoc  that  knows  no  morrows,  that 
cares  for  nothing  except  the  thrilling  present. 

Jimmy  Pool  was  smiling,  and  he  alone  had  not 
joined  his  voice  to  the  chorus  of  yells.  The  Vaga- 
bond was  at  once  cool  and  burning  with  excitement; 
at  once  clear-eyed  to  every  detail  and  drunk  with  the 
eagerness  of  conflict,  and  withal  as  insensible  of 
danger  as  the  rising  partridge  to  the  meaning  of  the 
sportsman's  gun.  Tim  Booker  thought  that  he  was 
fighting  the  whole  Confederate  army  single-handed, 
and  every  man  he  thrust  at  he  counted  as  dead.  The 
Vagabond  leading,  thanks  to  Breaker,  kept  calling, 
while  he  plied  his  sabre,  "Don't  stop!  Don't  fear  I 

249 


THE    VAGABOND 

Follow  me!  Follow  me!"  while  nobody  could  hear 
him  above  that  torrent  of  noise.  The  horses  by  in- 
stinct followed  their  leader,  the  great  bay,  whose  life 
carried  the  hopes  of  all.  Behind  them  they  left  a 
swath  of  huddled  infantry-men  on  all  fours,  rising 
gamely  to  their  feet,  trying  to  reload  and  fire — at 
something. 

At  the  bend  in  the  Confederate  line,  where  the 
flanking  party  met  the  front  division  of  it,  they 
passed  through  inevitably  and  the  horses  came  to  a 
stop  at  the  whistle's  call,  their  riders  holding  aloft 
reeking  blades.  They  were  within  the  enemy's 
forces.  They  were  a  stream  that  had  been  ingulfed, 
and  their  dusty  blue  uniforms  on  a  background  of 
dusty  trees,  dusty  swajd,  and  dusty,  gray-coated 
soldiery  showed  their  origin.  In  front  of  them  was 
the  Confederate  reserve;  in  the  rear,  the  firing-line 
that  they  had  just  passed.  A  year  later,  the  same 
personnel  of  the  enemy  would  have  taken  that  little 
band  of  cavalry  prisoners  with  the  same  easy  confi- 
dence that  a  farmer  puts  up  the  bars  of  the  barn-yard 
for  the  night.  They  would  have  fired  at  the  riders 
with  sharp-shooters'  accuracy  and  a  veteran's  ready 
initiative,  then  run  forward  to  gather  them  in.  As  it 
was,  they  were  as  surprised  as  you  would  be  to  find 
a  total  stranger  materialize  out  of  thin  air  and  reach 
for  your  under-shirt  at  the  same  time  that  you  did  in 
the  morning.  They  looked  and  blinked.  Those  who 
lifted  their  rifles  feared  that  they  would  shoot  their 
own  men  beyond.  Officers  who,  a  year  later,  would 
have  known  just  what  to  do,  shouted  differing  com- 
mands in  view  of  this  totally  unexpected  first  en- 
counter with  the  Yankees. 

250 


THE    VAGABOND 

"What  in  hell's  going  to  become  of  us  now?" 
gasped  one  of  the  Vagabonds. 

"We're  going  back!"  yelled  Tim  Booker.  "We're 
going  to  eat  'em  up!  We're  cannibals,  savage  can- 
nibals! We'll  cut  the  rebel  army  into  slices  like  it 
was  a  big,  soft  cheese !" 

In  the  short  time  that  it  took  the  enemy  to  recover 
its  poise  and  to  realize  how  hopelessly  this  little  band 
of  cavalry  was  at  its  mercy,  the  Vagabonds  had  faced 
about  and  started  on  the  return,  and  not  a  second 
too  soon.  If  not  with  the  order  which  makes  the 
steel  at  the  horse's  breast  invincible,  at  least  in  the 
proper  individual  positions,  the  Confederates,  recov- 
ering their  breath,  their  animus,  their  corps  spirit,  and 
their  acumen,  along  the  route  which  the  charge  had 
taken  and  by  which  it  must  return  presented  their 
bayonets  in  rigid  and  murderous  welcome,  confident 
that  the  Red  Caps,  who  paralleled  them,  would  not 
fire  on  their  own  troops.  The  run  out  had  been  a 
surprise;  the  run  back  was  a  set  event,  the  Confed- 
erate firing-line  knowing  its  part. 

"They're  coming  back!  They're  coming  back!" 
the  General  shouted,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  sports- 
man who  sees  his  horse  winning;  only  no  race  could 
compare  with  this  one  of  life  and  death.  He  gave 
up  his  glasses  and  fell  back  on  his  naked  eye,  as  we 
all  do  in  great  excitement.  "That's  it!  that's  it! 
That's  military  genius !"  he  suddenly  cried. 

!N"o  horses  would  charge  upon  bayonets  and  no 
cavalry  would  attempt  it.  The  valiant  company  must 
return  either  in  the  zone  between  the  Confederate 
reserve  and  firing-line  or  else  between  the  firing-line 
and  the  Red  Caps.  A  warning  song  of  a  shell  made 

251 


THE    VAGABOND 

the  Vagabond  choose  the  former.  Bulwer,  who  had 
been  purring  over  the  prospect  with  his  guns  all 
shotted  ready  to  converge  at  right  angles  on  the 
Vagabonds,  lost  his  academical  calm  so  far  as  to 
swear  in  an  oath  that  was  the  more  savage  because 
he  used  one  so  seldom.  His  missiles  would  be  as  dan- 
gerous to  his  friends  as  to  the  enemy. 

Then,  that  Confederate  firing-line  also  had  a  flash 
of  genius,  man  for  man,  which,  we  flatter  ourselves, 
is  American.  It  realized  that  the  cavalry  in  its  rear 
could  do  it  no  more  harm  than  a  passing  drove  of 
wild  horses  to  a  man  in  a  tree.  It  started  its  bayonets 
with  all  speed  to  take  the  hill  where  lay  the  Red  Caps. 
But  the  Red  Caps  were  made  soldiers  now.  They 
grinned  in  awful  satisfaction  and  hurled  the  attack- 
ers back  as  easily  as  you  can  make  a  man  drop  his 
hold  of  a  plank  by  rapping  his  fingers. 

Still  under  the  fire  of  the  infantry  of  the  Confed- 
erate reserve,  the  surviving  troopers  returned  over 
the  rising  ground  which  had  flung  them  into  the  con- 
flict as  an  actor  rushes  from  the  flies — all  save  Tim 
Booker.  Circumstances  over  which  he  was  proud 
master  made  him  a  little  late.  He  came  into  that 
harbor  of  refuge  with  a  small  Confederate  private, 
his  shirt  clutched  in  Tim's  sabre-hand,  bobbing  most 
uncomfortably  on  the  horn  of  the  saddle. 

"I  killed  a  hundred!"  he  yelled,  in  a  thundering 
voice — a  bass  voice,  now.  "And  I  just  lifted  this  lit- 
tle tobacco-raiser  by  the  hair  of  the  head  and  brought 
him  as  a  sample  to  show  you  what  you  got  so  scared 
about!" 

"Oh,  make  it  fifty,  Timothy,"  said  Jimmy. 

"One  hundred  and  six,  to  be  exact,"  Tim  replied 
252 


THE    VAGABOND 

"I  cut  down  the  actual  figures  to  please  you.  Now 
I  stick  to  'em." 

The  General,  his  delight  over  the  troop's  exploit 
muffled  in  the  demands  of  the  moment,  gave  an  order 
instead  of  a  compliment.  In  company  of  the  rein- 
forcements which  had  arrived,  he  sent  the  Vagabonds 
dismounted  back  to  extend  the  line  of  the  Red  Caps 
and,  therefore,  make  their  tactical  position  complete. 
At  the  bugle's  call  Tim  was  in  a  quandary;  he  did  not 
want  to  lose  his  captive.  Finally,  he  handed  him 
over  to  one  of  the  horse-holders: 

"Let  Willie  play  some  if  he  wants  to.  Must  miss 
his  ma,"  he  said. 

"You great  big  piece  of  whiskers  and 

suet!"  cried  the  little  Confederate,  in  rage  and  tears. 
"I  could  lick  you  till  you  bawled  if  I  had  half  a 
chance." 

"Willie,"  admonished  Tim,  "when  a  man's  been 
snatched  up  by  the  hair  of  his  head  the  way  you  was, 
he  don't  want  to  talk.  He  wants  to  stop  and  consider 
and  grow!"  ,  . 

Hurrying  on  to  catch  up  with  his  comrades,  Tim 
saw  how  their  numbers  had  dwindled,  and  a  light 
burst  upon  him. 

"They've  been  killing  our  fellows!"  he  cried,  his 
voice  rising  to  the  tremolo.  "The  blasted  tobacco- 
raisers  !  Just  let  me  get  a  shot  at  'em !  Oh,  I'm  a 
cannibal,  a  savage  cannibal!" 

Then  not  only  he,  not  only  Billy,  but  every  other 
Vagabond,  coming  to  their  new  position  (as  infantry) 
on  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  before  them  the  field  of  their 
charge  scattered  with  fallen  men  and  fallen  horses, 
saw  one  man  carrying  another  in  his  arms  toward 

253 


THE    VAGABOND 

them.  A  dozen  volunteers  starting  to  their  assistance 
were  stopped  by  their  Captain. 

"See!"  he  exclaimed.  "The  Confederates  are 
ceasing  to  fire  in  that  direction.  If  you  go  out  they 
will  begin  again." 

It  was  one  of  those  moments  when  the  sheer  chiv- 
alry inherent  in  every  brave  man's  soul  lifts  him 
above  the  motives  which  bring  him  to  a  battle-field. 
Though  the  blood-lust  of  strife  was  in  their  hearts, 
though  the  glassy  eyes  of  their  own  dead  around 
them  called  for  revenge,  the  Confederates,  as  they 
turned  their  rifles  away,  cheered  the  gallantry  which 
had  made  enemies  akin.  Through  a  zone  of  gentle 
peace,  Hosea  Pillsbury,  one-time  town  drunkard, 
himself  bleeding,  bore  the  one-time  Judge,  helpless 
as  an  infant,  with  the  blood  gushing  from  a  wound 
in  his  side. 

"I  was  so  glad  I  fell  near  you  and  I  could  help!" 
he  said;  and  seeing  his  bunkie  under  the  doctor's 
care,  he  lost  no  time  in  that  critical  moment  in  tak- 
ing his  place  in  the  line  to  which  the  Confederate 
musketry — such  are  the  amenities  of  war — now 
seemed  to  say: 

"We  let  that  brave  fellow  off,  and  we  hope  that  the 
fellow  he  carried  will  get  well.  But  you  will  under- 
stand that  our  opinion  of  you  well  men  over  there 
hasn't  changed.  We  didn't  want  to  take  your  old 
hill,  anyway.  Take  that  between  the  eyes  and  that 
in  the  groin,  will  you  !" 

The  Vagabond,  still  upright  except  that  he  rested 
one  knee  on  the  ground  in  surveying  the  field,  saw 
that  Captain  Herrick  was  walking  up  and  down  as 
jauntily  as  ever.  With  all  speed  he  hastened,  expos- 

254 


THE    VAGABOND 

ing  himself  unconsciously  along  the  whole  line  of 
fire,  to  the  Father  Vagabond,  who  was  still  tickling 
his  men  with  his  wit. 

"Feeling  kind  of  mean,  ain't  they,  's  if  somebody'd 
hit  'em  in  the  stummick  and  the  back  of  the  head  and 
chucked  red  pepper  in  their  faces  at  the  same  time. 
Still,  if  we  hadn't  been  just  lazy  and  selfish  enough 
to  stick,  they  might  be  lying  nice  and  cool  right  in 
this  very  spot  themselves  and  plugging  it  into  us.  I 
tell  you,  boys,  there's  no  way  of  making  an  enemy 
uneasy  like  getting  up  close  and  shooting  fast  and 
straight."  At  sight  of  the  Vagabond,  all  the  pride  of 
a  teacher  in  a  pupil  shone  in  his  face.  "Phil  Kearney 
couldn't  have  done  it  better!"  he  cried. 

"There's  still  a  heavy  fire  and  there's  no  need  of 
standing  now,  Father  Bob." 

"Yes,  sir,  we're  going  to  hold  'em  off  the  road  so 
the  other  folks  can  get  away,  sure  enough.  I  thought 
you'd  take  the  wrong  side  of  that  firing-line,  but  you 
didn't,  you  didn't,  you  sandy-haired,  runaway  little 
cuss,  you!"  the  Captain  continued,  oblivious  of  the 
suggestion. 

"For  my  sake,  if  no  other  reason!  You  are  all  I 
have  in  the  world."  The  Vagabond  put  his  hand  on 
the  Captain's  shoulder. 

"Yes,  yes,  Billy,  that's  so.  It's  you  and  me  and  a 
good  trail  and  a  clean,  dry  camp  and  happiness,  ain't 
it?" 

He  sank  to  his  knee.  It  was  not  his  own  volition 
that  carried  him  farther.  He  clapped  his  hand  to  his 
chest  and  the  blood  trickled  between  the  fingers, 
while  the  Vagabond  held  him  gently  in  his  arms. 

"It's  in  a  bad  place,"  he  said. 
255 


THE    VAGABOND 

The  Vagabond's  only  answer  was  to  press  his  own 
hand  over  the  wound,  as  if  to  dam  the  red  stream 
thus,  and  then  he  bore  his  patron  to  shelter. 

As  swiftly  as  words  and  glances  can  inflame  a 
crowd,  the  news  that  "Granddad"  had  fallen  passed 
along  the  line  of  the  Ked  Caps.  They  heard  it  in 
grim,  smothering  silence.  As  if  they  were  a  monster 
with  a  single  body,  the  demon  of  hell  entered  into 
their  spirit  and  they  charged.  They  drove  the  Con- 
federates back  before  their  whirlwind  of  anger  and 
took  up  a  new  position,  where  they  remained,  dumb 
of  lip,  savagely  swearing  in  their  hearts  and  firing 
as  steadily  as  so  many  competitors  at  a  tournament 
for  a  prize.  Dimly  the  Captain  heard  their  shouts 
as  they  leaped  from  the  earth  to  their  path  of  re- 
venge. 

"Is  that  my  boys — my  veterans?"  he  asked. 
The  smile  that  played  around  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  on  hearing  the  answer  was  an  epitaph  which 
language  cannot  translate. 

Thenceforth  the  Red  Caps  were  known  by  an- 
other name.  When  Lee's  skirmishers  broke  through 
the  under-brush  in  front  of  Cemetery  Ridge  at  Get- 
tysburg, a  private  spoke  for  all  when  he  exclaimed: 

"This  ain't  any  home  militia!     It's  those  d d 

Granddads  again!" 

As  the  old  soldier  lay  lifeless  in  his  foster  son's 
arms,  some  of  the  wounded  Red  Caps  who  could  still 
stand  gathered  around  him  in  that  awe  of  the  victo- 
rious soldier  for  his  leader  fallen  in  the  hour  of 
victory  which  no  other  situation  can  approximate. 
Finally,  one  of  them  broke  the  silence  with  words 
coming  between  the  swallows  of  a  dry,  full  throat: 

256 


THE  VAGABOND 

"Do  you  think  he  knows  that — that  us  greenhorns 
that  kind  of  made  fun  of  Granddad — that  he  knows 
we  learned  to — to  love  him  to-day?" 

"Yes,"  the  Vagabond  replied,  with  a  solemnity  he 
had  never  known  before,  "yes,  he  knew  your  hearts 
from  the  first,  and  your  hearts  were  right.  He  saw 
you  prove  it  to-day." 

For  himself,  while  he  looked  into  the  tranquil  face 
of  the  hero  who  had  shaped  his  course  merrily  over 
all  trails  in  all  weathers,  he  still  heard  the  lips  repeat- 
ing their  last  whispered  words  of  advice : 

"You  stick  to  that  girl,  my  boy.  You've  got  to 
have  somebody  or  some  idea  to  keep  you  straight. 
And  don't  you  feel  sorry  for  me.  I'm  not  propped  up 
on  pillows  as  I  always  feared.  I'm  being  mustered 
out  just  in  the  way  I  wanted  to  be — and  I'm  past 
seventy — past  the  time  any  of  us  enlists  for." 


257 


xx 

NOT    THE    SAME    FELICIA 

To  Felicia  as  well  as  to  thousands  of  others  that 
famous  day  was  as  upsetting  as  if  the  earth  had  sud- 
denly stopped  with  a  jolt  (when  the  Union  line 
broke)  and  begun  to  revolve  in  the  opposite  direction. 
Conflicting  and  tragical  emotions  had  full  play  in  a 
nature  whose  life-long  rule  of  self-repression  had 
been  blown  away  in  a  breath.  Her  thoughts  were 
tossed  from  dagger's  point  to  dagger's  point  of  hor- 
ror, disgust,  chagrin,  and  indignation,  while  the  slew- 
ing carriage  bore  her  helpless  from  the  battle-field. 

She  had  given  her  goodies  to  poltroons  and  heard 
dying  heroes  calling  in  the  Saviour's  name  for  water; 
she  had  seen  the  flag  of  her  country  trailed  in  flight 
before  its  enemies;  she  had  felt  the  utter  powerless- 
ness  of  all  save  brute  force  and  brute  skill  in  human 
conflict;  she  had  been  face  to  face  with  death  in  its 
worst  form;  she  had  heard  the  fierce  oaths  of  men 
trying  to  stay  the  lightnings  with  bone  and  flesh,  of 
generals,  so  immaculate  on  parade  when  their  legions 
seemed  unconquerable,  as,  hatless,  coatless,  blood- 
stained, they  drove  their  horses  among  these  same 
legions  transformed  into  broken-winged  birds  on 
panic's  wind. 

Her  idols  were  shattered;  all  that  she  had  held  se- 
cure in  the  world  was  wabbling,  except  her  faith  in 

258 


THE  VAGABOND 

ner  principles.  The  Judge,  he  whom  she  had  looked 
up  to  as  great  in  the  law  and  an  exemplar  of  good 
citizenship,  had  turned  buffoon  before  her  very  eyes. 
She  would  never,  never  suffer  herself  to  speak  to  him 
again.  While  his  country  was  crying  for  help,  how 
he  had  lounged,  smoking  his  vile  pipe  like  a  village 
loafer !  Not  satisfied  with  boorishness,  he  would  have 
laid  hands  on  her  as  if  she  were  no  more  than  a  bag 
of  meal.  She  ought  to  have  known,  she  told  her- 
self when  in  a  certain  mood,  that  she  could  have  ex- 
pected nothing  else  of  him.  Hadn't  he  pictures  of 
Virginians  in  his  office?  Hadn't  he  laughed  at  her 
mighty  Greeley  for  a  whooping,  ranting  agitator? 
(Hadn't  that  fool  Greeley,  fighting  battles  with  his 
spectacles  and  an  ink-pot,  howled  "On  to  Richmond !" 
as  if  Richmond  was  a  railroad-station  lunch-counter? 
she  was  crying  a  few  minutes  later.)  Probably  the 
Judge  half  wished  that  his  fellow-countrymen,  as 
he  called  the  Confederates,  would  win.  His  chosen 
comrade,  Jimmy  Pool,  that  supercilious  hypocrite, 
she  was  sure  was  a  rebel  at  heart.  How  could  any 
man  be  as  cool  as  he  when  his  side  was  losing? 
Hadn't  he  kept  the  Vagabonds  in  idleness  purposely  ? 
In  truth,  she  did  not  dare  to  think  of  the  hateful 
Jimmy  long  lest  she  should  call  aloud  to  the  very 
trees  and  fences. 

Her  overwhelming  fear  was  that  the  Union  would 
falter  after  this  repulse.  When  it  had  been  so  hard 
to  work  his  courage  up  to  call  for  sixty  thousand  men, 
who  dared  to  hope  that  the  weak  backbone  of  Abra- 
ham Lincoln  would  not  lean  toward  peace?  If  it  did, 
she  would  take  the  platform  herself  against  him.  She 
would  tell  the  people  that  this  was  only  a  setback  in- 

259 


THE  VAGABOND 

tended  by  the  Almighty  to  rebuke  their  over-confi- 
dence and  callousness  and  to  teach  them  their  power 
and  the  needs  of  the  hour. 

As  the  carriage  passed  out  of  the  range  of  fire,  the 
driver  allowed  the  winded  horses  to  slacken  their 
pace.  On  both  sides  were  the  flying  out-runners  of 
disaster. 

"You  lazy  coward,"  she  called  to  the  nearest  one, 
"go  back!" 

"Ca-an't!  Wownded,  ma'am,  wownded  to  the 
death,"  he  replied,  redoubling  his  pace. 

"I've  eaten  hardtack  enough!"  cried  a  New  York 
tough.  "Let  the  Generals  do  the  fighting!" 

Miss  Felicia  reached  for  the  driver's  whip  and,  ris- 
ing in  the  carriage,  struck  him  across  the  face.  He 
raised  his  rifle  as  if  to  fire  and  dropped  it  with  a 
curse  as  the  sight  rested  on  a  woman's  bosom. 

"And  you,  what  are  you  running  for?"  she  de- 
manded of  a  giant  countryman,  going  as  fast  as  his 
blown  lungs  would  permit  him. 

"Ma'am,"  he  replied,  as  a  light  broke  on  him, 
"ma'am,  can't  you  see  I'm  scared?"  Then  the  giant 
stopped.  He  rubbed  his  head;  he  looked  back  at  the 
scene  around  him;  finally  he  grinned.  "Well,  by 
gosh!  If  we  ain't  a  reedikewlus  lot  o'  sheep!"  he 
said.  "Thank  ye,  ma'am!"  He  faced  about  and  re- 
traced his  steps  at  the  run.  Never  again  in  four 
years'  service  could  anyone  say  that  he  flinched  under 
fire. 

And  what  was  this  line  of  blue  halted  beside  the 
road  for  a  rest  on  a  march  in  formation  to  the  rear? 
None  other  than  that  notorious  regiment  whose  black 
name  and  black  deed  are  still  read  as  a  warning  to 

260 


THE  VAGABOND 

every  recruit  to  the  National  Guard  of  a  certain 
State;  none  other  than  men  wearing  Government 
coats  with  Government  victuals  in  their  stomachs, 
who  refused  a  single  rifle-blast  to  aid  the  nation  that 
gave  them  suffrage,  because  their  term  of  enlistment 
was  up  on  that  day! 

All  the  proud  courage  of  those  Pilgrim  ancestors 
who  had  landed  on  the  stern,  rock-bound  coast  welled 
to  her  temples  in  shame  for  them,  and  her  loathing 
found  expression  in  an  all-embracing  phrase. 

"Keep  your  skirts  out  of  the  dust,  ladies!"  she 
screamed,  and  passed  on. 

The  stragglers  grew  fewer  with  her  progress,  till 
at  the  Virginia  side  of  the  bridge  with  Washington 
before  them  she  came  up  with  the  distinguished  ad- 
vance guard  of  the  retreat,  who  was  as  zealous  in 
his  task  as  the  famous  runner  from  Marathon.  With 
the  handkerchief  which  he  had  used  to  bind  his 
wound  he  was  now  mopping  his  sweaty  brow,  as  he 
stumbled  on  perseveringly.  He  could  not  have  lost 
much  blood,  for  his  face  was  the  color  of  crushed 
strawberries. 

"We're  whipped!  whipped!"  he  shouted.  "The 
whole  Union  army  is  flying — horses  rearing,  cannon 
roaring,  thousands  killed  and  the  rest  running  for 
their  lives!  The  rebels  had  fifty  times  our  number. 
We've  been  murdered,  betrayed — betrayed!  I'm  go- 
ing home.  I've  been  shot  to  pieces  enough.  I'm  go- 
ing home  and  tell  how  we've  been  betrayed.  I  know ! 
I  know!  I'm  right  from  the  field!" 

"So  am  I!"  said  Felicia. 

He  looked  at  her  enviously.  His  hard-won  dis- 
tinction was  lost. 

261 


THE  VAGABOND 

"You  had  a  carriage"  he  remarked,  plaintively. 

Felicia's  mind  had  grown  nimble  with  excitement. 
Forthwith  conceiving  a  plan,  worthy  of  the  Vaga- 
bond's fancy  in  its  most  outlandish  mood,  she  smiled 
at  Tom  Prather  winningly  and  moved  to  one  side  of 
the  seat. 

"We'll  tell  the  story  together.     Jump  in  I" 

As  they  entered  the  streets  of  Washington,  the  ve- 
hicle rattling  over  the  paving-stones  broke  in  upon  a 
melancholy  stillness.  Knots  of  men  gathered  here 
and  there  were  as  subdued  as  the  undertaker's  help- 
ers at  a  church-door.  Ears  hopeful  of  success,  fear- 
ful of  defeat,  were  pricking  keen  for  every  fragment 
of  a  rumor.  Tom  Prather  wanted  to  alight  at  once. 
He  imagined  the  crowd  he  could  gather,  as  he  saw 
eyes  turned  curiously  toward  them.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  was  a  person  of  importance. 

"Wait!"  said  Miss  Felicia.  "We'll  take  it  to  those 
in  power." 

Why  shouldn't  she?  Wasn't  she  a  tax-payer? 
Wasn't  she  an  American  ?  She  would  go  to  "that  man 
Lincoln"  herself  and  tell  him  he  must — must,  must 
— call  for  hundreds  of  thousands  of  men.  Under  the 
impetus  of  her  mingled  despair  and  indignation,  she 
bade  the  driver  turn  into  the  White  House  grounds. 
The  speed  of  the  carriage,  if  not  the  appearance  of 
the  ill-assorted  pair  on  the  seat,  was  enough  to  speak 
the  magic  word  "News"  to  the  attendants. 

"Tell  the  President,"  said  Felicia,  "that  we  are 
straight  from  the  front — Miss  Hope,  the  daughter  of 
the  late  Senator  Hope" — as  if  the  name  were  an 
open  sesame  to  any  august  presence — "and  Mr.  Tom 
Prather." 

262 


THE  VAGABOND 

A  young  man  passed  into  the  ante-room  with  the 
visitor's  request,  and  when  the  door  was  opened  again, 
it  framed  the  tall  form  of  the  President.  He  nodded 
and  inclined  toward  the  two  in  a  listening  attitude. 
He  was  as  ungainly  as  his  reputation  made  him,  Miss 
Felicia  thought;  yes,  and  as  weak. 

"I  expect  you  left  our  boys  pretty  busy,"  he  said. 

"Tom  Prather,  here,  has  the  whole  story."  She 
turned  to  the  private.  "He'd  have  beaten  me  if  I 
hadn't  had  a  carriage." 

The  private  realized  that  he  had  the  ear  of  his 
ruler.  He  was  Yankee  enough  not  to  be  abashed 
and  to  make  the  most  of  his  opportunity. 

"We're  all  cut  to  pieces!  There's  a  million  Con- 
federates !  We've  been  betrayed — be — "  There  Tom's 
effort  to  hold  up  his  end  failed.  The  deep-set  eyes 
of  the  President  seemed  to  have  pinioned  for  public 
view,  like  butterflies  in  a  collector's  cabinet,  all  the 
lies  he  had  ever  told. 

"Yes,  and  Tom  started  straight  home  as  soon  as 
he  found  out  the  truth,"  Miss  Felicia  went  on.  "He 
wants  to  be  the  first  to  tell  the  neighbors.  Go  ahead, 
Tom — speak  for  yourself!" 

All  Tom's  strength  was  occupied  in  crushing  his 
fatigue  cap.  He  was  helplessly,  pitifully  dumb. 

"Well,"  said  the  President,  "we  like  to  be  accom- 
modating. I  will  have  Mr.  Cameron  provide  Tom 
with  a  guard  and  hurry  him  off  at  once.  It  will  be 
a  real  triumph  for  him  to  stand  up  in  front  of  the 
town-hall  and  tell  his  folks  and  his  relatives  and  fel- 
low-citizens how  he  beat  the  whole  army  in  running 
away  from  the  Confederates." 

This  subtle  touch  of  humanity  made  Tom  see  the 
263 


THE    VAGABOND 

finger  of  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  his  com- 
munity pointing  in  scorn  at  him.  The  blood  flew 
from  his  face,  leaving  it  pale  and  grim  in  determina- 
tion. He  squared  his  shoulders  as  if  to  receive  a 
blow. 

"I'll  jump  out  of  the  train !  I'll  kill  myself  before 
I'll  go  back  there  and  be  called  a  coward!"  he  cried. 
"I'll  fight!  I'll  fight  as  long  as  I  can  see  the  sight 
of  a  rifle,  as  long  as  I  can  wriggle  an  inch  toward 
the  rebels,  but  I  won't  go  back  home  alive  for  you 
or  any  other  man  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  Mr.  Presi- 
dent!" 

The  mobile  mouth  which  had  been  so  firm  now 
curved  in  a  smile,  and  the  grave,  gentle  eyes  shone 
with  a  kindliness  significant  of  the  mind  which 
sounded  for  the  good  in  his  fellow-men  and  brought 
it  into  play. 

"Well,  as  I  said,  Tom,"  the  President  resumed, 
"we  like  to  be  accommodating.  Return  to  your  work 
and  if  you  make  a  good  soldier  I'll  know  of  it." 

"You've  been  a  father  to  me!"  said  the  private, 
who  waited  not  on  fatigue  or  hunger  till  he  had  re- 
ported to  his  commander. 

"And  I've  got  something  to  say  to  you  myself, 
now,  Mr.  President,"  said  Miss  Felicia. 

"Yes,  Miss  Hope,"  responded  the  patient  recep- 
tacle. 

"It's  the  gospel  truth!"  she  cried.  "Our  soldiers 
are  running  like  sheep!  I've  seen  great,  strong  men 
flying  from  their  own  shadows  and  crying  like  chil- 
dren." 

"Yes,  there  are  faint  hearts  in  all  companies  and 
they  always  seem  to  go  with  a  good  pair  of  lungs," 

264 


THE  VAGABOND 

he  replied.  "We'll  have  to  wait  for  that  sort  to  get 
their  second  wind,  just  as  Tom  Prather  has  here.  I 
guess,  though,  that  the  majority  of  the  boys  are 
doing  their  duty.  In  fact,  I've  just  heard  over 
the  wire  of  a  cavalry  charge  that  wasn't  very  faint- 
hearted." 

"Mr.  President,  I  am  one  woman  and  one  tax- 
payer, and  I  come  to  tell  you,  as  one  woman  and  one 
tax-payer,  that  I  have  never  been  as  angry  in  my  life 
as  I  am  this  minute.  Abraham  Lincoln  will  give  up 
now,  the  Union  will  ask  for  peace,  I've  kept  saying 
all  the  way  back  from  that  field  of  horror.  Mr. 
President,  call  for  all  the  men  and  money  in  the 
country !  It  isn't  a  time  for  honey,  now.  It's  a  time 
to  settle  down  and  make  war,  Mr.  President!  We 
must  not  give  up,  Abraham  Lincoln,  we  must  not!" 

Even  as  she  spoke,  he  had  taken  the  sting  out  of 
her  words  with  that  smile  which  was  to  turn  the 
wrath,  the  perversity,  the  plotting  of  selfish  and  di- 
vergent interests,  the  enthusiasm  of  radicals,  the  in- 
difference of  conservatism,  into  weapons  for  gaining 
his  one  supreme  end — the  Union. 

"I  think  you'll  find  that  the  whole  country  feels 
that  way.  Out  in  Illinois,  when  we  get  careless  and 
leave  the  barn-door  open,  we  get  all  the  spunkier  be- 
cause we've  been  neglectful,  and  we  don't  content 
ourselves  with  just  buying  a  lock.  We  call  in  the 
neighbors  and  catch  the  thief  and  recover  the  horse. 
The  next  call  will  not  bring  the  fellows  who  were 
going  South  on  a  picnic.  It  will  bring  the  men  who 
were  too  busy  to  take  a  holiday,  but  who  are  not  too 
busy  to  fly  to  their  country's  aid  when  it  is  in  danger. 
Yes,  out  in  Illinois,  where  they're  taking  up  land 

265 


THE    VAGABOND 

and  paying  off  mortgages  and  earning  the  money  to 
send  their  children  to  school,  they  don't  go  to  war 
until  they  get  well  stirred  up." 

All  through  the  night  the  disorderly  fragments 
poured  into  the  capital  with  their  disconnected  tales. 
The  crowds  gazing  at  the  lights  in  the  White  House 
wondered  if  by  to-morrow  it  would  not  be  Beaure- 
gard's  head-quarters.  General  Scott,  that  veteran 
who  made  the  Vera  Cruz  campaign  an  orderly  march, 
looked  out  of  his  window  in  his  old  age  on  all  that  is 
repulsive  to  the  military  organizer.  The  residents — 
for  Washington  was  a  Southern  city  at  heart — 
greeted  one  another  with  knowing  smiles,  believing 
that  in  twenty-four  hours  they  could  raise  their 
chuckles  into  shouts. 

The  man  who  sprang  from  the  people,  who  car- 
ried the  heart  of  the  people  with  him  into  high  places, 
knew  whereof  he  spoke.  The  set  faces  of  Congress, 
the  opinion  of  the  morning  papers,  showed  that  New 
England  tenacity  did  not  dwell  in  Belmore  alone. 
It  had  spread  westward  to  the  Great  Valley,  where  it 
took  root  in  fertile  soil  with  the  promise  of  a  sur- 
passing growth.  That  day,  more  momentous  than 
Gettysburg,  found  the  rock-bottom  of  American  na- 
tionality. The  people  of  the  United  States  decided 
that  no  price  was  too  great  to  save  the  one  and  in- 
separable from  becoming  a  medley  of  wrangling 
republics. 

To  all,  as  to  Miss  Felicia,  the  battle  was  lost  and 
a  battle  past.  With  her,  they  sought  to  know  that 
others  were  as  determined.  What  would  her  Greeley 
say  now?  The  satire  of  its  "On  to  Richmond!"  which 
events  had  proved,  only  made  the  Tribune  sell  all  the 

266 


THE    VAGABOND 

better.  Everybody  wanted  to  see  if  the  bellicose 
editor  had  killed  the  famous  standing  head-line.  He 
had,  and  was  still  interesting.  No  longer  in  favor 
of  conquering  a  great,  chivalrous  people  with  a  pen- 
thrust,  he  called  for  preparations  with  all  the  vigor 
of  his  overwrought,  turgid  phrase.  Reading,  Miss 
Felicia  believed  in  him  more  than  ever.  Then,  turn- 
ing to  the  news-sheet,  she  thrilled  at  sight  of  the  name 
of  the  Vagabonds  in  bold  type.  "Judge  Williams 
will  live!"  said  a  subhead.  She  clutched  the  sheet 
frantically  as  she  read,  "The  wound  of  the  County 
Judge  of  Belmore,  that  splendid  example  of  self- 
sacrificing  patriotism" — the  reportorial  style  of  the 
day  was  florid  and  paid  by  the  word — "who,  disdain- 
ing rank,  saying  that  trained  soldiers  should  com- 
mand, left  his  judicial  elevation  to  serve  his  country 
as  a  private,  is  not  as  serious  as  the  first  conflicting 
reports  of  other  journals  represented.  In  his  extrem- 
ity he  would  have  bled  to  death  on  the  field  if  a  com- 
rade had  not  gallantly  flown  through  a  perfect  rain 
of  bullets  to  his  timely  succor.  This  comrade,  it 
seems,  was,"  etc.,  etc.  It  did  not  mention  the  Con- 
federates' chivalry  in  withholding  their  fire.  There 
was  no  such  thing  as  Confederate  chivalry  in  the 
Tribune  office  thus  early  in  the  war. 

"Oh,  John!"  she  exclaimed.  "And  you — you 
didn't  send  for  me!" 

Why  should  he?  ran  her  piercing  second  thought. 
Had  she  not  rebuffed  him?  Had  she  not  called  him — 
oh,  had  she  called  him  a  vulgar  lounger  to  his  face 
or  only  in  fancy?  Anyway,  she  had  believed  it  and 
that  was  just  as  wicked. 

She  had  come  to  the  army  as  a  njirse  and  here  she 
267 


THE  VAGABOND 

was,  idly  reading  in  Washington,  while  hundreds  of 
men  lay  wounded  and  dying  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Potomac.  Price  and  weary  horses  were  no  considera- 
tion. She  entered  the  first  unoccupied  vehicle.  She 
had  no  sarcasm  to  vent  on  stragglers  now,  no  inter- 
ests, no  thoughts  except  personal  duty  and  a  great 
fear,  as  the  carriage  bore  her  through  Georgetown, 
across  the  bridge  and  fairly  into  the  conglomeration 
of  artillery,  infantry  and  cavalry,  of  the  mixed  parts 
of  regiments  and  companies  which  yesterday  had 
been  an  army,  which  weary  officers  were  trying  to 
make  into  an  army  again.  Over  all  in  the  gray  light 
hung  grim,  naked  reality,  as  over  a  banquet-table 
when  the  dishes  have  not  been  cleared  away;  when 
cigar-stubs  grown  rank  still  lie  beside  the  csffee-cups, 
and  wine-glasses  still  hold  the  dregs. 

You  did  not  sleep  on  a  feather-bed  last  night, 
my  son,  as  the  grass  stains  on  your  uniform  prove. 
Your  good  mother  did  not  ask  you  if  your  coffee 
was  hot  this  morning.  You  did  not  have  ham  and 
eggs  and  flannel  cakes  for  breakfast.  Oh,  no ;  this  is 
soldiering.  This  is  the  reality  that  follows  the  glori- 
ous function  of  going  to  war.  But  your  eyes  are 
blue,  your  hair  is  fair;  you  belong  to  the  race  that 
sees  a  task  through,  which  you  will  do,  as  will  also 
your  victors,  too  shocked  at  the  cost  of  victory,  too 
weary,  to  follow  up  their  advantage  as  they  would 
have  done  a  year  later.  Only,  a  year  later  you,  too, 
had  become  veterans  and  would  not  have  given  them 
the  opportunity.  Your  ignorance  of  each  other's 
virtues,  your  exaggeration  of  each  other's  faults,  the 
breaking  point  of  principle  and  range  of  the  soil's 
products  have  locked  you  in  a  combat  which  pride 

268 


THE  VAGABOND 

will  continue  till  one  is  prostrate,  his  last  resource 
expended. 

Her  carriage  stopped  by  the  press,  as  Felicia 
looked  around  for  a  way  out  she  saw  at  one  side  lines 
of  men  drawn  up  in  order.  Begrimed  as  they  were, 
they  were  handsome  to  the  eye;  as  suggestive  as  a 
platoon  of  police  marching  through  a  motley  crowd, 
this  first  brigade  to  be  in  order  after  the  disaster. 
Their  commander  was  a  red-haired,  red-bearded  man, 
with  sword  drawn  in  salute.  Another  carriage  con- 
taining the  President  was  approaching.  His  face,  al- 
ways sad  in  repose,  showed  the  weariness  of  his  all- 
night  vigil  and  the  realization  of  the  scene  around 
him  with  its  suggestion  of  the  future,  pregnant  with 
expense  and  suffering  to  the  nation. 

"There  they  are,  what's  left  of  them,  Mr.  Presi- 
dent," said  the  commander.  "I  hope  you  won't  make 
any  speeches.  We've  had  too  many  speeches  in  this 
war,  in  my  opinion,  sir." 

No  sight  could  have  been  more  welcome  to  the 
weary  Lincoln  than  these  steady  lines.  They  were 
the  one  rift  in  the  sorrows  of  the  last  twelve  hours. 
The  news  of  his  presence  brought  the  stragglers  to- 
gether in  a  crowd.  Yes,  sir,  here  he  was;  here  was 
Abraham  Lincoln  himself.  What  had  he  to  say 
about  it?  They  gave  voice  to  the  question  which  the 
whole  country  was  asking. 

The  President,  mindful  of  the  Colonel's  request, 
responded  with  a  few  words  that  were  soothing  and 
encouraging.  When  he  had  finished,  one  of  the 
soldiers  broke  from  the  ranks.  The  Colonel  started 
at  this  summary  breach  of  discipline,  but  allowed  the 
man  to  go  on  with  his  speech. 

269 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Mr.  President,  I  come  to  you  for  justice,"  he  said. 
"We've  been  more  than  three  months  away  from  our 
armory,  though  we  weren't  mustered  into  the  United 
States'  service  till  after  we  began  guarding  the  B. 
&  O.  We  have  got  business  to  attend  to  at  home. 
I  started  to  march  out  of  camp  this  morning  with 
some  of  the  boys  who  stand  for  a  good  many  votes 
in  our  county.  The  Colonel,  there,  drew  his  re- 
volver on  us.  He  said,  'You've  been  soldiering  long 
enough  to  know  what  soldiering  means.  The  United 
States  Government  has  construed  that  that  three 
months  began  when  you  were  actually  mustered  into 
the  United  States'  service.  The  first  man  that  steps 
another  foot,  I'll  shoot  him!'  Yes,  sir,  he  said  that 
to  me.  And  he  drew  his  revolver — he  drew  his  re- 
volver !" 

"Correct!"  ejaculated  the  red-bearded  man. 

"Well,"  replied  the  President,  "I've  been  looking 
Colonel  Sherman  over  a  bit,  and  from  what  I  can  see 
of  him,  if  he  said  he'd  shoot  me  I'd  be  careful — for 
I  think  he'd  do  it." 

Was  it  a  laugh  that  passed  along  the  lines  of  weary 
men  ?  Perhaps  only  a  grin,  that  broke  into  a  chuckle. 

"Looks  like  rain,"  observed  someone,  as  the  ora- 
tor stepped  back  into  the  ranks. 

"Good!  good!"  Miss  Felicia  cried  aloud.  "Abra- 
ham Lincoln  isn't  all  for  votes.  He  has  got  backbone, 
and  when  the  cartilages  shuck  together  the  way  they 
did  then,  there's  no  bending  it." 

As  the  stragglers  who  had  been  attracted  by  the 
presence  of  the  President  were  scattered,  her  carriage 
proceeded.  No  one  could  tell  her  where  the  wounded 
Vagabonds  were.  This  and  that  soldier  did  know, 

270 


THE    VAGABOND 

however,  that  a  nearby  barn  had  been  turned  into  a 
hospital.  Thither  she  hurried.  Her  heart  was  throb- 
bing as  she  looked  over  the  rows  of  men  who  had 
shed  their  blood  yesterday  in  the  name  of  a  great 
cause;  who  had  not  straggled  or  thought  of  strag- 
gling; who  had  gone  into  action  with  the  steadiness 
and  courage  that  their  march  out  with  cheers  and 
sweethearts'  and  mothers'  tears  bidding  them  God- 
speed had  promised;  who  had  given  an  unfortunate 
battle  the  redeeming  glory  and  sorrow  of  a  long 
casualty  list.  John  was  not  there. 

"Williams  ?  You  mean  the  Judge  that  enlisted  as 
a  private  ?"  said  the  sleepy  surgeon,  who  had  cut  and 
bandaged  by  candle-light  all  night.  "I  took  special 
care  of  him." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  shade  of  a  tree,  where  the 
Judge's  white  face  lay  still  on  the  background  of  an 
elm's  rough  bark.  At  the  sound  of  her  voice  he 
turned  his  head  and  smiled  wanly. 

Knowing  now  that  even  a  righteous  war  was  not 
conducted  as  quietly  as  a  church  collection ;  knowing 
that  man  must  be  strong  for  the  fight,  first  of  all,  if 
he  would  win  in  battle,  the  dusty  coat  and  the  un- 
shaven beard  became  only  the  cherished  emblems  of 
manhood.  What  if  he  did  smoke  an  ugly  clay  pipe  ? 
He  had  bled  for  her  cause ;  he  had  stood  the  test.  On 
his  side,  he  was  as  far  from  indulging  in  heroics 
as  most  real  heroes  are.  (They  leave  that  to  the 
writers. ) 

"Mornin',  ma'am,"  he  said,  cheerfully  and  respect- 
fully. "Jeff  Davis  doesn't  seem  to  have  caught  up 
with  us  yet.  I  guess  I  can  run  faster'n  he  can." 

"Is  it — it — bad,  John  ?"  she  asked. 
271 


THE  VAGABOND 

"Nothing  but  a  hole ;  didn't  touch  the  bone,  thank 
you,  ma'am.  Leaked  some,  though.  That's  what 
makes  my  legs  feel  as  if  my  body  had  to  carry  'em  in- 
stead of  the  other  way  'round,  ma'am." 

"Please  don't  ma'am  me,  John,"  she  pleaded. 

"Felicia,  then.  Privates  will  get  into  the  habit  of 
deference.  Felicia,  I  tell  you  when  that  nephew  of 
mine  flashed  .his  sabre  and  we  started  across  that 
field,  it  didn't  take  any  courage.  I  enjoyed  it,  Felicia. 
I  was  like  a  horse  running  away.  What  if  I  did 
smash  the  buggy  and  impale  myself  on  a  rail  ?  The 
fun  was  worth  the  cost.  I  didn't  care  a  whoop  what 
became  of  me,  long's  I  could  get  in  as  many  whacks 
as  the  next  fellow.  Talk  about  your  leaders !  Why, 
I'd  follow  the  Vagabond  right  through  the  gates  of — 
of  Jerusalem!" 

"Does  your  wound  pain  you  ?"  she  asked. 

"No,  not  much,  ma'am — Felicia,  I  mean.  Not  so 
much  as  the  loss  of  that  pipe.  Yes,  that  pipe — is — 
gone !" 

"You  can  get  another,"  she  said,  sympathetically. 

"Not  as  ripe — never !  Why,  it  was  like  keeping  a 
box  of  peaches  on  the  dining-room  table,  just  mellow 
enough  and  not  too  mellow,  the  year  round.  After 
I'd  slept  on  it  and  guarded  it  the  way  I  had,  too! 
You  don't  suppose  it  would  do  any  good  to  advertise 
in  the  Washington  papers,  do  you  ?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,  if  the  Confederates  have  it,"  she 
said,  earnestly. 

"Well,  I  couldn't  smoke  it  now,  anyway.  Hosea 
could,  though.  My  idea  was  to  let  him  have  it  alto- 
gether till  I  got  well.  He  saved  my  life,  Felicia — 
yes.  Hosea  Pillsbury,  the  town  drunkard,  did.  He'a 

272 


THE  VAGABOND 

the  proudest  piece  of  work  I've  ever  done.  If  every 
one  of  us  who  stood  up  and  made  speeches  full  of  ad- 
vice the  way  I  used  to  could  say  that  he  had  re- 
formed just  one  human  being,  what  a  different  world 
it  would  be!  Yes,  Felicia,  I've  made  an  upright, 
sober  man  and  a  good  soldier  of  Hosea,  and  he  has 
paid  me  back — how  quickly,  how  munificently !" 

"It  was  your  idea.  It  was — it  was  like  you — like 
you,  John,"  she  said,  tremulously. 

For  an  instant  he  looked  into  her  eyes  before  he 
threw  off  his  mask. 

"Felicia,  do  you  know  what  I  was  thinking  of 
when  I  was  knocked  off  my  horse  and  lay  there  on 
the  turf,  with  the  shouts  and  firing  in  my  ears  ?  I 
didn't  expect  to  live,  then.  I  should  have  bled  to 
death  if  Hosea  hadn't  come.  Well,  a  man  thinks 
pretty  fast  at  such  a  time.  All  I  thought  of  was  you 
— I  wondered  how  much  you'd  care.  I  wondered  if 
you  knew — my  God!  if  you  did  know — if  you  do 
know — how  I  love  you,  Felicia !" 

There  was  no  oratory  in  this;  no  thought  of  the 
garb,  only  of  the  naked  feeling  of  the  heart  itself. 

"Oh,  John,  John!"  she  cried,  as  she  sank  to  her 
knees  and  pressed  her  face  beside  his.  Sobbing  from 
happiness,  after  a  time  she  said :  "I  wish  you'd  just 
picked  me  up  and  put  me  in  the  carriage  without  ever 
warning  me.  I" — but  why  intrude  further  in  the 
private  affairs  of  a  pair  who  were  enjoying  the  bene- 
fits of  a  liberalizing  experience  ? 


273 


XXIX 

NEEDING    AN   EXCUSE 

When  the  handful  of  earth  had  rumbled  on  the  un- 
planed  pine  coffin;  when  high  officers  and  old  com- 
rades had  rendered  the  homage  of  stricken  hearts; 
when  the  Red  Caps  had  paid  their  last  tribute  of  re- 
spect to  their  drill-master  with  a  crash  of  musketry, 
the  Vagabond,  who  had  come  in  silence,  who  stood 
at  the  grave-side  in  silence,  rode  away  to  camp  in  si- 
lence between  his  two  lieutenants,  and  in  silence 
parted  from  them.  Entering  his  tent,  he  opened  a 
small  box  in  which  he  kept  his  dear  and  valuable 
possessions,  and  took  out  all  the  sketches  he  had  ever 
made  of  Father  Bob.  One  by  one,  his  gaze  fondled 
them.  Each  spoke  to  him  of  some  obstacle  overcome, 
some  happy  day  or  some  incident  adding  another 
thread  to  the  skein  of  love  that  had  bound  them  to- 
gether. Every  thread  was  now  a  severed  thread, 
twitching  and  writhing.  Yet  no  word  escaped  his 
lips. 

As  he  closed  the  box,  as  he  unbuckled  his  sabre  and 
threw  it  on  his  cot  and  strode  out,  the  expression  of 
his  face  was  still  that  of  the  blank  abstraction  of  suf- 
fering. To  Washington  and  back,  all  night,  indeed, 
he  walked,  until  sheer  physical  fatigue  had  dulled  the 
racking  pain  in  his  head.  Upon  his  return  at  dawn, 
his  orderly  hastened  to  him  with  an  envelope  which 

274 


THE  VAGABOND 

held  one  of  those  precious  missives  now  cozened  by 
historical  societies  or  proudly  displayed  in  the  home 
of  the  recipient  or  the  recipient's  family.  In  his  own 
hand,  as  he  was  wont  to  do  when  thoroughly  moved, 
the  President  had  expressed  his  thanks  for  the  charge 
and  offered  its  leader  a  colonelcy  of  cavalry,  "with  a 
brigadier's  star  twinkling  near." 

"I  wouldn't  part  with  Jimmy  and  Tim!  If  I 
could  take  them  with  me  for  my  lieutenant-colonel 
and  my  senior  major!"  he  said. 

Just  then  reveille  was  sounded.  The  Vagabond 
saw  his  men,  the  sixty  that  were  out  of  grave  and  hos- 
pital, hastening  to  their  places  in  line.  He  knew  each 
one's  history;  his  "pet"  as  well  as  his  surname.  The 
development  and  the  future  of  each  was  an  object  of 
loving  interest  and  solicitude.  There  were  "Lengthy" 
Sykes,  with  a  bandage  around  his  head;  "Bucky" 
Smith,  who  had  driven  an  overland  stage-coach; 
Mikey  Hogan,  who  had  scars  won  while  a  policeman 
in  Five  Points ;  "Skippy"  Ames,  who  had  left  the  jun- 
ior class  at  Harvard ;  "John  Bull"  Sutherland,  a  prof- 
ligate younger  son  of  a  lord,  with  his  English  air  and 
manner  still  intact  and  his  morale  greatly  improved, 
and  all  the  others,  dear,  whatever  their  faults,  because 
he  had  passed  on  each  upstanding  one  at  the  recruit- 
ing booth.  And  they  had  stood  the  test;  they  were 
not  quitters.  Separation  from  the  troop  of  his  affec- 
tion was  no  promotion  to  him;  he  was  a  soldier  from 
his  citizen's  sense  of  duty,  not  by  profession.  A  cap- 
tain of  vagabonds  he  had  begun;  a  captain  of  vaga- 
bonds he  would  remain. 

Later,  when  he  imparted  the  news  to  Jimmy  and 
Tim,  he  added: 

275 


THE  VAGABOND 

"But  I'm  sure  the  President  will  make  you  a  major, 
Jimmy,  and  you  a  captain,  Tim,  and  you  can  pass  on 
up  if  you  wish." 

"Billy,"  said  Tim,  "you  remember  our  agreement 
that  night  after  your  father  died?" 

"Yes." 

"You  remember  that  little  hill-side,  out  there  in 
the  eternal  hills  of  California — that  little  hill-side 
above  the  mine,  where  we  used  to  look  for  wild  flow- 
ers when  the  snow  melted?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  give  the  fragrance  of  just  one  of 
those  little  wild  flowers  to  be  sixteen  times  a  general." 

"Good!"  said  Jimmy  Pool,  saluting.  "That's  me, 
hat  and  boots." 

Tim,  as  before  noted,  was  not  a  stickler  for  military 
forms.  He  was  the  poet  of  the  company;  the  Captain 
its  soul;  Jimmy  its  martinet.  At  retreat  Tim  told 
the  men  of  their  leader's  decision  in  language  which 
made  the  deed  lose  none  of  its  charm.  They  would 
have  broken  ranks  and  surrounded  the  Vagabond  if 
Jimmy's  eye  had  not  been  on  them.  As  it  was, 
"John  Bull"  Sutherland  voiced  the  sentiment  of  all. 
Since  the  battle,  Mikey  Hogan,  to  the  general  satis- 
faction, had  rechristened  him  "Bully  John,"  thereby 
confessing  a  racial  prejudice  overcome  by  the  spec- 
tacle of  the  fair  young  Englishman  who,  in  the 
charge,  had  snatched  a  Confederate's  musket  and 
plied  the  butt  end  after  his  sabre  was  broken. 

"It's  an  American  custom,  I  believe,  and  it's  rather 
appropriate  now,  I  think — we'd  all  like  to  shake  hands 
with  the  Captain,"  said  Sutherland. 

"This  is  one  of  the  good  things  of  life — better  than 
276 


THE  VAGABOND 

an  extra  bit  of  braid  on  your  shoulder-strap,"  the 
Vagabond  kept  repeating,  as  he  pressed  the  calloused 
palms  of  the  gentle-hearted  men  who,  two  days  be- 
fore, had  furiously  hewn  a  path  through  a  forest  of 
human  beings;  and  he  recalled  another  compliment — 
yes,  it  was  the  sweetest  memory  of  all — of  how  Father 
Bob  had  lived  to  praise  him  as^a  soldier. 

To  a  man,  the  Vagabonds  re-enlisted  for  the  three 
years  for  which  three  hundred  thousand  men  were 
called — called  to  make  war,  not  to  march  gayly  on  to 
Richmond  as  were  the  first  sixty  thousand.  To  fill 
the  vacant  places  came  others,  whose  history  and  up- 
standing figures  and  faces  insured  that  they,  too,  were 
not  quitters.  They  had  to  learn  what  the  comrades 
who  welcomed  them  had  already  learned,  that  the  true 
blade  is  not  fashioned  in  the  fight  but  in  the  workaday 
forge.  The  ensuing  weeks  and  months  of  inaction 
taught  them  how  the  soldier  lives  through  long  pe- 
riods of  inertia  and  drills  on  the  memory  of  one,  two, 
or  three  great  days'  strain  and  the  expectation  of  an- 
other, when  columns  of  men  who  have  been  precipi- 
tated out  of  inertia  by  the  word  of  a  general  shall 
march  and  fight  till  they  drop  from  bullets  or  fatigue. 
It  is  in  the  intervals  of  peace  that  armies  are  made; 
in  the  battle  that  all  results  of  preparation  pass  under 
the  swift  examination  of  a  censor  as  relentless  as  fate 
and  as  impartial  as  the  gate-keeper  of  the  Inferno ;  for 
you  can  as  easily  build  a  sea-wall  by  a  wave  of  the 
hand  as  call  into  existence  by  a  proclamation,  or  by 
opening  the  doors  of  an  overflowing  treasury,  trained 
companies,  regiments,  brigades,  divisions,  and  corps, 
and  able  leaders  who  make  fields  and  groves  and  rivers 
a  chess-board,  and  trained  companies,  regiments,  bri- 

277 


THE    VAGABOND 

gades,  divisions,  and  «orps  their  pieces,  with,  whom 
they  play  as  calmly  as  with  so  many  bits  of  wood. 

The  Vagabond's  sole  pleasure,  aside  from  pride  in 
his  company,  was  in  watching  the  Judge's  rapid  con- 
valescence; his  most  satisfying  triumph  as  the  result 
of  his  service  was  the  happy  day  when  he  saw  him 
and  Felicia  made  one  in  the  church  at  Belmore.  Of 
course  he  kissed  the  bride,  who  was  his  aunt  in  truth, 
now.  His  teasing  was  received  in  too  good  part,  such 
was  the  supreme  happiness  and  self-content  of  the 
jpair,  to  make  it  worth  while.  (The  groom,  be  it  ob- 
served, now  smoked  cigars.  Upon  his  setting  forth 
that  he  could  not  bear  any  other  pipe  after  the  loss 
of  the  ripe  veteran  of  his  campaign,  he  smiled  know- 
ingly, as  much  as  to  say  that  when  an  argument  had 
served  its  purpose  it  should  be  laid  aside.)  They 
spent  their  honeymoon  in  Belmore,  where  there  was 
work  to  do  for  them  in  forming  a  regiment  of  in- 
fantry whose  command  the  Judge  might  now  accept, 
especially  as  he  was  a  married  man.  His  wife  never 
looked  at  the  lieutenant-colonel,  Hosea  Pillsbury, 
without  feeling  a  far  greater  pride  in  her  husband  as 
a  reformer  than  in  the  eagles  on  his  shoulder-straps. 

In  idle  hours  after  his  return,  the  Vagabond,  sit- 
ting in  his  tent-door,  looked  out  across  the  fields  in 
the  direction  of  Lanleyton,  which  once  more  lay  in 
the  neutral  zone.  "No  scouting  trip  called  him  there ; 
the  Intelligence  Department  did  not  need  two  maps. 
He  had  to  wait  for  action  while  recruiting  officers 
gathered  in  the  raw  material;  while  tailors  made  uni- 
forms ;  while  machine-shops  made  muskets  and  ammu- 
nition; while  lawyers  were  turned  into  officers;  while 
the  whole  was  brought  together  into  a  composite 

278 


THE  VAGABOND 

thing  under  the  direction  of  a  little  major  whom  a  suc- 
cessful skirmish,  such  as  was  soon  to  be  of  almost  daily 
occurrence,  had  raised  to  a  field-marshal's  command. 
Yes,  he  had  to  wait,  when  love  was  calling  him;  when 
the  mine  was  calling  him.  He  never  received  a  letter 
from  California  that  he  did  not  feel  the  bitter  home- 
sickness of  one  who  is  separated  from  his  chosen  work. 
It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  go  back;  he  could  not  go, 
for  one  thing,  until  he  had  told  his  story  and  heard  a 
positive  "yes"  or  "no."  He  had  set  out  to  see  the 
war  through,  and  see  it  through  he  would. 

Captain  Herrick's  death  had  given  the  strength  of 
maturity  to  his  manhood.  There  was  not  a  day  when 
he  did  not  repeat  the  Father  Vagabond's  dying  mes- 
sage. More  than  ever,  he  felt  that  his  future  was 
bound  up  with  the  woman  of  his  heart's  desire. 
Every  word  she  had  spoken  in  his  presence  was  again 
and  again  recalled;  again  and  again  every  impression 
of  her,  in  pictures  that  his  memory  held,  appeared 
before  his  eyes.  Winning  her  was  a  part  of  his  fancy, 
of  his  scheme  of  life  as  he  had  outlined  it  long  ago, 
which  had  become  an  overpowering  passion  that  might 
make  or  break  him.  He  knew  that  she  was  back, 
keeping  vigil  alone  with  her  servants  in  the  old  house, 
as  unapproachable  to  him  as  if  it  had  a  sea  for  a  moat. 
Occupied  with  a  business  that  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  mountain,  the  mine,  and  the  girl,  he  must  rest 
almost  at  her  threshold,  when  in  half  an  hour  he  could 
be  at  her  side  with  that  story,  that  suffocated  him  for 
the  want  of  telling,  on  his  lips. 

Too  often  for  his  patience,  when  he  thought  of  her, 
Southbridge  appeared,  sweeping  the  floor  with  his 
plume,  while  he  saw  her  radiantly  thankful  for  a  "he- 

2Y9 


THE    VAGABOND 

roic  relief."  Then  he  would  hold  Southbridge  off  in 
perspective  and  say,  "Here  is  a  flamboyant  creature 
in  a  silk  sash,  who  plays  a  guitar,  and  what  he  does  or 
thinks  is  no  more  matter  to  me,  except  when  duty 
shall  cross  our  paths,  than  if  he  were  any  other  colonel 
in  the  Confederate  army" — a  view  which  was  always 
and  immediately  eclipsed  by  certain  recollections. 
He  could  not  restrain  himself  from  associating  South- 
bridge  with  a  precipice  where  there  was  room  for  only 
one.  When  he  made  sabre  practice  he  saw  a  plume 
dancing  over  his  opponent's  head;  when  he  led  his 
men  out  for  the  morning  evolutions  he  never  gave 
them  a  fond  glance  without  imagining  that  the  Vir- 
ginia Firsts  were  sweeping  across  the  plain  to  meet 
them. 

Meanwhile,  he  needed  only  to  wait  for  darkness, 
have  his  horse  saddled,  and  break  a  military  rule  in 
order  to  put  himself  on  the  road  to  Lanleyton  and 
leave  the  rest  to  circumstance,  as  any  vagabond  loves 
to  do.  Only  the  thought  of  how  Father  Bob  would 
censure  such  an  escapade  on  the  part  of  a  responsible 
commander  held  him  back.  Go  he  was  bound  to,  as 
surely  as  the  temptation  and  the  monotony  of  camp 
kept  rising  to  tap  the  dam  of  his  patience,  when  fate, 
in  a  sable  form,  took  charge  of  him  one  evening.  Mar- 
cus Aurelius,  in  the  rags  and  humility  of  a  contra- 
band, though  he  detested  the  Yankees,  had  made  his 
way  through  the  lines  on  his  mistress's  errand.  In 
the  presence  of  the  Vagabond  he  threw  back  his  shoul- 
ders, and  his  first  words  were  to  explain  his  stricken 
dignity. 

"Fse  discountahed  some  dif'culties  an*  obsuhved 
some  sangfraw,  sah." 

280 


THE    VAGABOKD 

Having  offered  the  proof  of  a  phrase  from  a  foreign 
tongue  (which  he  had  learned  in  youthful  days  while 
in  Paris  with  his  master)  that  bare  feet  were  purely  a 
stage  make-up  with  a  Southern  gentleman's  man-serv- 
ant, he  took  a  letter  out  of  his  dilapidated  straw  hat. 

The  Vagabond  had  no  sooner  glanced  at  the  femi- 
nine handwriting,  no  sooner  felt  the  soft  linen  be- 
tween his  fingers,  than,  with  thrilling  realization,  he 
understood  that  she  had  written  to  him.  Everyone 
when  he  opens  a  folded  sheet  whose  rustle  is  the  pref- 
ace to  tender  news,  prefers  to  be  alone.  He  went  in- 
side his  tent  and  pulled  the  flap.  The  message  which 
he  read,  at  first  swiftly  and  then  slowly,  as  if  words 
were  sentences  and  sentences  slow-dripping  honey,  was 
plainly  enough  dictated  by  conscience  and  not  inclina- 
tion. It  showed  a  girl  who,  seeing  through  the  win- 
dows of  her  grief  when  the  mist  of  tears  had  passed, 
realized  that  she  had  been  a  little  unfair  to  one  to 
whom  she  would  be  under  no  obligation  : 


,  September  1,  1861. 

"SiR:  I  write  this  because  an  apology  is  due  even 
more  to  an  enemy  than  to  a  friend.  Its  tardiness  is 
owing  entirely  to  me  ;  that  it  is  sent  at  all  is  owing  to 
Cousin  Richard,  who  has  ever  had  the  faculty  of  look- 
ing on  both  sides  of  a  question. 

"I  saw  him  yesterday  for  the  first  time  since  my 
grandfather's  death,  he  having  been  in  Alabama  on 
recruiting  duty.  He  told  me  that  you  went  ahead  of 
your  men  on  the  day  my  grandfather  was  killed  in 
order  to  protect  our  house  and  its  occupants.  I  had 
never  thought  of  it  in  that  light.  He  said  that  your 
action  could  not  have  been  more  chivalrous.  I  agree 

281 


THE    VAGABOND 

with  him.  I  thank  you  for  this.  I  thank  you  because 
not  an  object  in  our  house  has  been  disturbed.  I  thank 
you  for  your  considerateness  after  my  grandfather  had 
fallen  and  for  allowing  me  to  go  to  the  Confederate 
lines  when  I  might  have  been  a  bearer  of  information. 
Richard  says  that  you  were  fully  justified  by  military 
canons  in  taking  Folly.  That  I  cannot  concede.  I  am 
obliged  to  you,  however,  for  returning  him  safely. 

"I  regret  that  my  grief,  my  strong  feeling  for  the 
righteousness  of  our  cause  and  the  brutal  unfairness  of 
yours,  made  me  slow  to  see  that,  personally,  you  were 
worthy  of  a  better  one. 

"I  am,  sincerely  yours, 

"VOLILLA  LANLEY." 

"When  he  stepped  out  of  his  tent  Marcus  Aurelius 
had  gone.  If  it  occurred  to  the  Vagabond  that  this 
meant  that  no  answer  was  expected,  it  did  not  inter- 
fere with  his  plan.  The  time  for  telling  his  story  was 
at  hand.  He  ordered  his  horse  for  three  o'clock  the 
next  morning. 


282 


XXX 

HE   TELLS    HIS   STORY 

Only  his  orderly  and  a  sentry  knew  of  his  depart- 
ure. With  a  good-night  to  the  one  and  the  password 
to  the  other,  he  was  outside  of  the  lines.  He  rode 
slowly  across  the  fields,  his  reins  slack  and  his  ear  keen 
for  any  sound  of  human  origin.  Dawn  found  him 
within  sight  of  his  destination.  He  dismounted  and 
counted  the  minutes  in  impatience  for  an  hour  or 
more,  watching  for  the  first  signs  of  life  about  the  old 
house.  In  the  saddle  again,  he  observed  the  surround- 
ings for  Southbridge  with  critical  eye  as  he  proceeded. 
"When  he  reached  the  shelter  of  the  great  trees  he  saw 
Folly  held  by  the  groom  at  the  curb. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  go  with  her?"  he  thought,  and 
halted. 

He  had,  in  the  sight  of  her  slim,  close-gowned  fig- 
ure as  it  emerged  from  the  door  and  joined  that  of  the 
horse,  making  a  harmonious  whole,  the  inspiration 
which  needed  only  a  vagabond's  confidence  as  its  ally. 
Timing  Breaker's  walk  so  as  to  join  her  on  the  drive, 
he  met  her  surprise  with  doffed  cap,  a  smile,  and  a 
question. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  ride  with  you  ?" 

"Are  you  going  my  way  ?"  she  asked,  frowning  and 
staring. 

"Yes,"  he  replied. 

283 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Then  tell  me  which  is  your  way." 

"Yours,  so  it  please  you." 

She  laughed  for  the  very  good  reason  that  she  could 
not  help  it,  so  easily,  so  serenely,  so  pleasantly  had  he 
spoken. 

"But  I  don't  know  mine  yet." 

"No  more  do  I  mine,  then,"  he  laughed  back,  in 
the  mischievous  abandon  which  has  play  ahead  and 
duty's  routine  behind. 

There  she  perceived  that  the  magnetism  and  assur- 
ance of  this  Yankee  had  led  her  to  bandy  words  too 
freely.  That  instant's  view  of  the  little  mole  playing 
into  the  dimple — more  becoming  than  the  eighteenth- 
century  patch — and  the  eyes  sparkling — sparkling  for 
him  as  they  had  on  the  day  he  caught  the  butterfly 
for  her,  the  woman's  charm  replacing  the  girl's  of 
his  fancy — at  once  gave  him  a  glimpse  of  the  warm, 
buoyant  nature  which  principle  and  prejudice  held 
in  bonds,  and  helped  him  to  meet  her  new  mood  with 
his  happy  manner  unchanged. 

"Why  are  you  mocking  me  ?"  she  asked,  insistently. 
"Because  you  have  your  men  in  ambush  behind  my 
house?  Because  you  have  power?  Because  you  can?" 

"My  men  are  back  in  the  Union  lines,"  he  replied. 
"I  have  come  here  quite  alone,  trusting  that  you  will 
not  betray  me.  I  have  come  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,  to 
me  a  great  favor,  long  craved,  which  you  may  easily 
grant.  May  I  ride  with  you  for  half  an  hour  and  talk 
to  you?"  Bending  slightly  toward  her,  radiantly 
smiling,  his  cheeks  flushed,  the  request  came  not  only 
from  his  lips  but  from  those  blue  eyes,  which  seemed 
to  add:  "It  is  such  a  little  thing,  so  easy,  and  means 
so  much  to  me." 

284 


THE  VAGABOND 

In  that  recess  of  her  brain,  where  a  woman  con- 
ceals the  little  emotions  whose  existence  she  denies, 
perhaps  curiosity  had  been  aroused.  Besides,  a  girl 
fond  of  companionship  and  adventure  had  had  neither 
for  two  months.  She  needed  nothing  so  much  as  the 
relief  from  anxiety  and  care  which  only  the  preoccu- 
pation of  new  experience  can  supply. 

"As  you  are  going  my  way,  yes,  for  half  an  hour." 

Herself  marvelling  at  her  consent,  she  put  Folly 
to  a  swift  trot,  first  by  the  road  and  then  down  a 
lane ;  while  he,  keeping  pace,  said  nothing,  but  beheld 
and  admired. 

"Your  time  is  flying,"  she  called,  almost  command- 
ed, over  her  shoulder. 

"The  trouble  is  that  I  can't  think  where  to  begin," 
he  responded,  "and  I  can't  say  it  when  we're  going 
at  this  rate,  anyway." 

"Then  we'll  walk,"  she  said,  drawing  rein.  "The 
more  quickly  it  is  over,  the  sooner  you  can  return  to 
your  duties." 

People  often  speak  playfully,  as  she  did,  when  the 
ice  is  thin  and  they  are  counting  the  inches  to  the 
shore.  His  silent  presence  was  uncanny;  already  she 
was  wroth  with  herself  for  not  having  rebuffed 
him. 

"That's  the  trouble,"  he  went  on,  as  their  horses' 
ears  were  on  a  line.  "I  thought  I'd  know  just  what  to 
say  when  I  started.  You  see,  it  seems  so  improba- 
ble, if  I  step  outside  of  myself  to  look  at  it;  while  at 
other  times  it's  all  very  real  and  natural." 

She  had  a  suspicion  that  this  dare-devil's  sole  ob- 
ject in  coming  was  a  flirtation. 

"You  mean,"  she  said,  stiffly,  "that  you  thought 
285 


THE  VAGABOND 

you'd  relieve  the  ennui  of  camp  by  riding  out  to  see 
that  rebel  girl  in  the  old  white  house." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,  if  you  please.  That  day  my 
horse  cast  his  tfhoe  I  came  to  tell  you  a  story  and  I've 
been  waiting  ever  since  for  the  chance." 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  more  puzzled  than  ever. 
"Well,  'Once  upon  a  time' — that's  the  way  stories 
usually  begin." 

"Once  upon  a  time,  yes,  that  will  do,  there  was  a 
boy " 

"And  a  girl,"  she  said,  being  minded  of  fairy  sto- 
ries, and  then  bit  her  lip. 

"Oh,  I  sha'n't  come  to  her  quite  so  soon,"  he  replied. 
The  lights  of  mischief  dancing  in  her  eyes  had  helped 
him.  "I'll  have  to  begin  in  order.  I'll  start  the  boy 
at  four  years.  That's  not  quite  as  young — not  by  four 
years — as  I  might  start  him.  It  was  then  that  he  was 
brought  from  the  city  to  an  old  house  in  the  country 
in  New  England.  He  didn't  remember  his  mother; 
but  so  far  as  he  knew,  his  father  had  failed  and  blamed 
her  and  she  had  died  of  grief.  The  father  hated  the 
world  only  less  than  he  hated  women.  He  was  deter- 
mined that  his  son  should  not  see  much  of  either.  The 
boy  was  learning  Latin  at  five,  sitting  up  on  a  chair 
like  the  poor,  helpless  Sphinx  in  the  desert  sands,  with 
no  hope  of  change.  And  while  he  crammed,  what 
was  he  thinking  of?" 

"Of  a  beautiful  princess,  of  course,"  she  said,  car- 
ried on  in  the  humor  of  the  fairy  idea,  for  he  was 
talking  well ;  and  bit  her  lip  again. 

"You  insist  on  getting  the  princess  in  ahead  of  her 
appointed  time,"  he  said,  happily,  being  hopeful  just 
then,  while  he  was  swimming  in  the  flood  of  her  in- 

286 


THE  VAGABOND 

terest,  not  caring  if  she  did  scoff  now  that  the  story 
was  sure  of  the  telling.  "No,  that  boy  was  looking 
out  at  the  woods  and  hills  where  they  met  the  sky  and 
wondering  what  lay  beyond.  One  day  he  saw  a  wood- 
cut of  a  mountain,  and  the  ambition  of  his  life  be- 
came to  climb  a  mountain.  He  planned  how,  when 
he  was  old  enough,  he  would  start  and  keep  walking 
until  he  reached  one.  Then  one  day  he  read  that  in 
the  Urals  there  were  gold  and  precious  stones.  So, 
of  course,  he  must  find  a  mine  when  he  climbed  his 
mountain.  Yes,  he  was  just  that  foolish,  that  boy 
— a  happy  boy,  as  happy  as  his  father  was  sad,  happy 
just  at  the  thought  that  he  was  going  to  see  the  world 
some  day." 

"And  he  didn't  want  a  princess  the  least  bit?"  she 
asked. 

"No,  not  in  the  least  then.  There  were  cuts  of 
them  in  the  books  in  the  library — European,  Indian, 
Hindu — all  kinds.  The  only  little  girls  he  had  ever 
seen  passed  up  and  down  the  road  in  buggies.  He 
had  never  had  a  chance  to  talk  to  them." 

"Then  he  ought  to  have  lost  his  heart  to  the  first 
one  he  met,  and — in  the  story — climbed  the  mountain 
and  brought  the  mine  home  in  a  chamois  bag  to  the 
girl  and  lived  happily  with  her  ever  afterward.  Only, 
he  wouldn't  in  real  life.  He  would  fall  in  love  with 
the  next  girl  he  met,  and  so  on,  and  reach  forty  a 
bachelor,  following  the  same  pastime." 

In  this  way  she  kept  in  evidence,  with  feinting 
thrusts,  the  lance  of  her  sarcasm,  to  let  him  know 
that  she  was  armed.  She  had  spoken  without  the 
slightest  idea  of  what  was  coming,  while  he  thought 
that  memory  had  suddenly  recalled  him  to  her  and 

287 


THE  VAGABOND 

she  was  stealing  his  climax.  But  he  was  determined 
that  nothing  should  keep  him  from  spinning  his  yarn 
in  his  own  way  now. 

"He  was  an  odd  boy  to  other  people  and  he  knew 
he  was;  but  he  didn't  much  care  if  only  he  could  see 
the  Rockies,  whence  the  Latin  grammar  had  not  yet 
penetrated.  That  may  explain  the  matter  of  the  girl. 
One  day,  when  he  was  seven,  he  went  into  the  woods 
to  a  favorite  spot  of  his,  where  a  tree  falling  across  a 
brook  had  made  a  deep  pool.  There  he  saw  the  prin- 
cess. She  must  have  been  five  or  six,  and  she  had 
very  superior  ways.  When  she  smiled  he  would  have 
climbed  a  tree,  or  jumped  into  the  water,  or  done 
anything  else  at  her  bidding,  and  he  was  a  boy  who 
did  not  like  to  take  orders.  He  caught  a  butterfly  for 
her  and  she  laughed  and  made  him  let  it  go." 

"Oh,  I  do  remember!"  she  exclaimed,  suddenly, 
with  a  flash  of  recollection.  "My  father  was  fishing 
in  the  stream.  He  had  stepped  out  of  sight  and  I  was 
leaning  over  the  pool  to  pick  a  lily.  I  was  sure  to 
have  fallen  in.  You  seized  my  pinafore  and  said, 
'Don't  fear,  little  girl;  a  boy  has  got  you.'  It  was  all 
play  house  to  me.  And  you — you,"  she  turned  tow- 
ard him  all  flushed  and  stricken,  "saved  my  life — 
yes,  you  saved  my  lif e !  I've  never  thought  of  the  in- 
cident since,  but  now  I  see  you  did."  She  bent  her 
head  and  cried  bitterly:  "I  wish  you  hadn't!  I 
would  never  have  lived  to  know  this  old  house  and 
plantation  and  to  see  their  ruin.  And  it's  another  ob- 
ligation— another  obligation!" 

"That  part  you  are  telling,  not  I.  Besides,  you  are 
mistaken.  Your  father  was  only  a  few  steps  away. 
He  would  have  heard  the  splash  and  pulled  you  out." 

288 


THE  VAGABOND 

"You  honestly  think  so?"  her  pride  demanded 
promptly. 

"Yes,  I  know  it."  And  he  bent  forward  in  his  ear- 
nestness to  save  her  and  him  from  a  false  position. 

"Thank  you.    I'm  so  glad!" 

"We've  all  had  our  pleasant  dreams,"  he  went  on, 
"that  were  snatched  away  by  the  big  hand  of  dark- 
ness. So  her  father  came  and  took  her  away.  'Good- 
by,  you  funny  little  boy,'  she  said.  That  boy  never 
felt  so  lonesome  in  his  life  before.  He  didn't  even 
know  her  name.  He  only  knew  that  she  lived  at  an 
army  Post;  nevertheless,  she  became  a  part  of  mV 
scheme.  When  he  climbed  the  mountain  he  was  go- 
ing to  drop  all  the  gold  from  the  mine  into  her  lap, 
just  as  he  had  the  butterfly.  He  thought  he  would 
have  a  nice  shady  place  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
for  her,  but  the  mountain  itself  would  be  a  regular 
old  father  of  a  mountain,  all  warty  with  great 
rocks,  so  he  could  show  her  what  a  good  climber 
he  was. 

"That  is  what  he  thought  then" — she  had  recovered 
her  tone  of  banter — "and  he  was  seven!" 

"Yes,  that  brings  me  to  the  odd  part  of  it — no,  not 
quite  yet.  I'm  telling  the  whole  story,  you  see,  and 
I'm  not  going  to  put  the  climax  in  the  middle.  Un- 
like the  stories  that  you  read,  the  ladies  will  have  to 
hear  me  through  to  get  that.  The  boy  could  summon 
up  a  picture  of  that  girl  at  any  time  he  chose.  She 
had  a  tiny  mole  on  her  chin " 

"Oh,  that  contemptible  little  mole!"  she  exclaimed, 
in  a  manner  that  showed  how  easily  one  can  regret  an 
imperfection  that  makes  for  a  kind  of  perfection;  and 
that  remark,  almost  familiar,  made  him  confident, 

289 


THE  VAGABOND 

foolishly  so.  She  was  yet  dumf  ounded  by  this  strange 
experience  and  its  developments. 

"Yes,  any  self-respecting  man  ought  to  fall  in  love 
with  it,  especially  when  it  dipped  into  the  dimple,  as 
it  always  did  when  she  smiled,  in  return  for  that  but- 
terfly— or  for  the  lapful  of  gold." 

"Because  the  mole  was  out  of  sight?"  she  said. 

"No,  because  it  hid  itself  so  cunningly,  as  if  it  was 
going  into  a  closet  to  have  a  chuckle  by  itself." 

"Humph!" 

She  partly  raised  her  riding-crop  in  her  anger,  as  if 
she  would  strike,  letting  it  fall  when  she  realized  that 
she  had  set  the  bait  for  her  own  trap;  while  he  con- 
tinued in  the  same  quiet,  smiling,  matter-of-fact  way: 

"The  only  friend  the  boy  had  -was  a  neighboring 
farm-hand,  Tim  Booker.  It  was  Tim  that  he  consult- 
ed about  how  big  a  boy  ought  to  be  before  he  ran 
away.  'You  want  to  grow  two  inches  more  and 
start  about  time  berries  are  ripe,'  said  Tim.  The  boy 
promptly  measured  himself  on  a  door-casing  and  be- 
gan to  eat  so  heartily  that  he  had  the  stomach-ache. 
Before  he  was  tall  enough  his  father  died;  and  a 
glimpse  of  his  guardian  made  him  think  that  another 
inch  didn't  count.  So  he  started  on  foot  for  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  some  two  thousand  miles  and  more  away. 
But  first  he  sought  that  army  Post  to  see  what  the 
girl  looked  like  a  year  after  he  had  seen  her,  and  to 
tell  her  that  he  would  bring  her  back  the  gold  as 
soon  as  he  found  the  mine.  There  he  met  the  dearest 
old  man  in  the  world,  who  adopted  him.  Together 
they  went  to  the  Rockies  by  way  of  Cape  Horn.  To- 
gether they  smiled  and  lived,  while  the  boy  grew. 
What  Father  Bob  was  to  that  boy  only  the  boy 

290 


THE  VAGABOND 

knows,  and  he  never  found  words  to  express  his 
love. 

"But  he  had  one  secret,  just  one,  that  he  shared 
with  no  one.  Father  Bob  did  not  know  the  real  rea- 
son that  had  brought  him  to  the  army  Post.  From  one 
of  the  boys  there  he  learned  that  the  girl  had  gone  out 
West,  all  a-bumping  in  a  stage-coach.  He  concluded 
sadly  that  he  would  have  to  wait  and  find  her  after  he 
had  the  mine.  When  he  grew  older  he  laughed  at  the 
idea,  but  after  he  laughed  he  always  fell  a-thinking 
and  a-smiling  in  a  way  that  is  quite  different  from 
laughing.  How  changed  she  would  be,  he  assured 
himself.  Once  he  saw  her  again  he  would  star-gaze 
no  more;  he  would  find  her  like  other  girls.  From 
his  connections  with  the  garrisons  in  California  he 
kept  track  of  her,  and  the  great,  delicious  event  which 
he  always  had  in  mind  was  the  day  when  he  should  see 
her  again  and  compare  the  big  girl  with  the  little  girl. 
You  see,  he  was  a  dreamer  and  a  vagabond,  with  only 
the  mountain  for  company.  If  he  hadn't  been,  he 
would  not  have  made  so  much  of  a  small  matter — a 
small  matter  in  the  East. 

"When  the  boy  was  thirteen,  Father  Bob  left  the 
army  and  gold-hunting  began.  More  than  once  they 
worked  for  day's  wages  to  get  a  grub  stake  to  start 
prospecting  again.  But  what  did  they  care  as  long  as 
the  mornings  were  fresh  and  they  had  each  other's 
company?  The  troubles  of  the  nations,  of  the  schol- 
ars and  the  bankers  were  not  theirs.  Only  that  boy, 
grown  man,  began  to  wonder  if  he  would  ever  get 
enough  to  take  him  East  to  find  the  girl. 

"Again  fortune  was  kind  to  him  and  the  prophecy 
was  fulfilled.  In  climbing  a  peak  that  took  his  fancy, 

291 


THE    VAGABOND 

his  own  peak  that  he  called  the  Topper,  he  found  a 
'pocket.'  Oh,  you  should  see  the  Topper!"  he  ex- 
claimed, in  enthusiasm.  "I  was  the  first  man  ever  to 
reach  its  summit,  and  I  was  quite  proud  of  that,  quite. 
Why,  you  shall  see  it,  of  course !"  He  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  sketch-book.  Forgetting  herself,  she  looked , 
over  his  shoulder.  "There  it  is!"  and  he  held  the  leaf 
for  her  inspection,  "and  here,"  he  turned  a  page,  "is 
the  mine,  and  these  others  are  sketches  of  our  camps 
and  of  many  people  and  many  things.  I  am  fond  of 
drawing,  possibly  because  it  is  something  my  father 
didn't  teach  me." 

In  answer  to  slackened  reins  their  horses  had 
stopped.  Their  heads  were  so  close  that  he  felt  the 
electric  touch  of  a  strand  of  her  hair  blown  against 
his  cheek. 

"And  the  odd  thing,  in  the  first  place,  is  that  he 
might  never  have  reached  the  Rocky  Mountains  if 
going  to  call  on  the  girl  hadn't  brought  him  to  Captain 
Herrick.  That's  a  creek  where  I  caught  two  trout  for 
breakfast!  And  the  odd  thing,  in  the  second  place, 
is  that  the  boy  climbed  the  Topper  because  it  was  like 
the  cut  of  a  mountain  he  first  saw  in  a  book,  and  there 
was  a  spacious,  shaded  plateau  at  the  foot  where — 
that's  three  Mexicans  in  their  sombreros!  That's  a 
sketch  of  myself,  of  the  boy,  I  mean,  blowing  a  fire 
to  make  it  go.  Father  Bob  laughed  so  over  it  that  he 
forgot  his  clothes  were  wet!" 

She,  too,  was  smiling,  though  he  was  too  interested 
to  notice  it. 

"It's  odd,  isn't  it,  but  it's  true,  that  the  girl  gave 
him  his  heart's  desire  of  seeing  the  mountains  and 
then  gave  him  the  mine.  Was  it  remarkable  that  he 

292 


THE  VAGABOND 

wanted  to  see  her?  There's  where  we  were  snowed  in 
in  the  Sierras,  and  that's  Father  Bob  poking  his  head 
out  of  the  tent  after  the  storm.  No,  it  wasn't  as  re- 
markable as  it  was  when  he  had  found  the  mine,  and 
when  he  came,  scoffing  at  his  fancy,  and  found — that's 
the  spacious,  shady  plateau  with  a  stream  gurgling 
through  it!  You  see,  the  only  thing  lacking  when 
the  boy  came  down  from  his  mine  was  the  girl  to  re- 
ceive the  gold  in  her  lap.  When  he  had  climbed  so 
hard,  don't  you  think  that  she  ought  to  be  there?" 

What  woman  would  be  entirely  displeased  at  hear- 
ing such  a  story?  What  woman  would  not  like  to  be- 
lieve that  she  had  been  worshipped  from  childhood  as 
the  only  one  ? '  What  woman  finds  admiration  utterly 
hateful?  What  woman,  too,  will  not  conceal  the  fact? 

She  turned  her  head  away  in  the  dizzy  second  that 
brings  a  blush  and  self-consciousness.  She  laughed — 
laughed  strangely,  if  she  meant  to  laugh  lightly. 

"I  think  you  are  the  most  ridiculous  man  I  ever 
met!"  she  cried,  in  exasperation  that  she  had  unwit- 
tingly listened  to  the  climax  of  this  impossible  tale. 

"Have  you  never  wished  that  you  might  go  to  an 
island  and  be  as  ridiculous  as  you  pleased?"  he  asked. 
"Isn't  it  good  sometimes  to  be  ridiculous?" 

"There  is  also  a  time  for  other  things,  and  your 
half-hour  is  up." 

She  stopped  and  he  stopped,  too.  She  turned  her 
horse  in  its  tracks.  He  saw  that  she  meant  to  close  the 
interview  and  comprehended  that  her  anger  was  ris- 
ing. 

"One  more  favor,"  he  said.  "I'd  like  to  race  you 
back  to  the  house.  I  think  I  have  the  better  horse. 
I  think  I  could  beat  you." 

293 


THE  VAGABOND 

He  saw  in  her  lips,  slightly  parting,  the  mockery 
that  invites  contest;  in  the  increasing  color  of  her  al- 
ready flushed  cheeks,  in  the  trembling  of  the  little  spi- 
ral outcasts  of  hair  as  she  shook  her  head  in  contempt, 
that  he  had  supplied  her  with  a  welcome  and  irresisti- 
ble means  of  escape  from  an  embarrassing  situation, 
at  the  same  time  that  she  gratified  his  whim. 

"Never!"  she  said.  "Never,  can  he,  Folly? 
Come." 

Folly  replied  with  his  hoofs. 

In  a  race  of  fifty  miles  the  Vagabond  might  have 
had  some  chance.  His  horse  was  a  dragoon's  and  her's 
a  hunter.  Her  slight  form  seemed  as  much  a  part  of 
her  steed  as  his  broad  shoulders  and  great  height  a 
part  of  his.  She  left  him  at  once  and  increased  her 
lead  rapidly.  His  pleasure  was  not  in  taking  the 
fences  himself,  but  in  watching  her.  He  ceased  to 
think  of  a  contest.  He  was  merely  superbly  happy  in 
doing  something  in  company  with  her.  So  hopelessly 
was  his  bay  outclassed  that  she  had  already  dismount- 
ed when  he  entered  the  drive. 

"Beaten!"  she  called,  and  made  a  courtesy. 
"Adieu!"  she  added  over  her  shoulder  in  triumph, 
as  her  skirt  whisked  over  the  threshold. 

That  was  her  last  word  beyond  question. 


294 


XXXI 

A    RULE    OF    WAR 

You  may  hold  that  he  had  not  gained  a  single 
point;  he  thought  quite  differently,  or,  rather,  he  was 
drinking  too  deeply  of  its  glowing  details  to  think  of 
the  meeting  in  the  light  of  progress  at  all.  He  had 
been  alone  with  her;  he  had  told  his  story;  she  had 
listened,  yes,  smiled  in  spite  of  herself ;  he  had  spent 
the  most  delightful  half -hour  of  his  life.  If  she  had 
left  him  summarily,  the  manner  of  her  parting  had  be- 
queathed the  most  cherished  impression  yet.  It  was 
enough  for  the  present  that  he  had  found  how  beauti- 
ful were  the  chambers  of  that  heart  whose  impulsive 
beat  had  burst  aside  the  barriers  of  partisanship  in 
the  brief,  enchanted  spell  that  she  had  bent  her  head 
over  the  pages  of  his  sketch-book. 

The  next  day,  sitting  in  his  tent-door  and  looking 
toward  the  South,  his  reveries,  in  which  her  every 
pose  floated  past  in  a  close  and  clinging  memory,  were 
alternated  with  the  question  as  to  what  his  next  step 
in  his  quest  should  be.  But  the  decision  of  this  was 
in  the  hands  of  his  superiors.  A  tap  on  the  shoulder 
brought  the  dreamer  back  to  the  army  again. 

"You're  looking  so  happy — I — I  thought  you'd  be 
— worse  luck!"  said  Maxim,  of  the  staff,  guiltily.. 
"It's  the  meanest  job  I've  ever  had,  and  I  want  you 

295 


THE  VAGABOND 

to  understand,"  he  burst  out,  angrily,  "that  I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it!" 

"Of  what  ?     Of  what,  Maxim  ?" 

"Oh, it !    I've  got  to  say  it,  I  suppose.    I've 

come  to  arrest  you  on  the  charge  of  giving  information 
to  the  enemy." 

After  the  angry  denial  of  an  innocent  man  struck 
by  accusation  flashing  out  of  the  sky,  contempt  and 
amusement  twitched  the  corners  of  the  Vagabond's 
mouth. 

"In  that  case,"  he  said,  easily,  "I'd  better  go  to 
head-quarters  at  once.  And,  thank  you,  Maxim,  for 
your  delicacy.  Thank  you  for  believing  in  me. 
That's  worth  a  lot." 

"That's  you  all  over !  Thinking  of  somebody  else's 
happiness  in  your  cool  way  even  under  this  shameful 
charge  made  by  some  lying  skunk  with  a  grudge  be- 
cause you've  given  him  what  he  deserves.  That's 
what  I  told"  the  General.  Will  you  take  any  evidence 
against  that  man?  It's  silly,  silly!  I  said,  right  to  his 
face.  And  he  gave  me  a  stare  and  a  dressing  down 
and  sent  me  off,  si-ir-r-r!" 

The  General's  manner  seemed  to  ice  the  atmosphere 
of  the  tent  as  the  Vagabond  entered.  "Without  rising, 
his  only  expression  of  recognition  was  a  nod.  The 
small,  unplaned  table  before  which  he  sat,  the  chairs 
and  the  field-desk,  all  partook  of  the  rigidity  of  his 
youthful  yet  most  mature  and  stable  figure  and  the 
set  lines  of  his  face.  There  was  as  much  indication  of 
bending  to  sentiment  as  in  a  riveted  steel  truss.  The 
Vagabond  put  his  hand  to  his  cap  and  said  the  "Yes, 
sir,"  which  is  the  bell  that  raises  the  curtain  on  such 
occasions. 

296 


THE  VAGABOND 

"You  are  accused  of  giving  information  to  the  ene- 
my under  your  own  hand,"  said  the  General,  automat- 
ically. "The  charge  comes  through  a  communication 
to  the  Secretary  of  War.  In  view  of  your  services  in 
the  recent  battle ;  in  view,  also,  of  an  affection  for  you 
which  I  do  not  deny,  I  have  been  granted  permission 
to  go  into  the  matter  personally  before  the  charge  is 
made  public,  in  the  hope  that  it  may  prove  unfounded. 
I  will  remind  you,  however,  that  you  need  make  no 
replies  that  will  tend  to  incriminate  you." 

Was  this  the  same  genial  fighting  man  who  had 
danced  for  delight  over  that  mad  ride  and  patted  its 
leader  on  the  shoulder  only  two  months  previously, 
this  man  with  steel-gray  eyes  fixed  on  his  own?  No 
matter.  The  Vagabond  was  not  to  be  looked  into 
guiltiness.  He  met  the  General's  gaze  buoyantly. 

"I  am  quite  willing  to  tell  the  truth,  sir,  to  anybody 
and  everybody." 

"That  is  a  good  sentiment,"  responded  the  General, 
and  proceeded  to  his  merciless  catechism.  "Did  you, 
night  before  last  or  in  the  early  hours  of  yesterday 
morning,  leave  our  lines  and  go  to  the  Lanley  planta- 
tion?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"For  what  purpose?    By  whose  authority?" 

The  General  partly  rose  as  the  questions  came  with 
a  b-r-r  through  his  lips. 

"Of  my  own  desire,  to  call  on  Miss  Lanley." 

"God  Almighty!"  roared  the  General,  as  he  struck 
the  table  with  his  fist.  For  he  was,  after  all,  an  irrita- 
ble man,  who  kept  himself  encased  in  mail.  His 
outburst  quickly  under  control,  he  wondered  if  this 
care-free  trooper  were  not  making  the  worst  of  his  case 

297 


THE  VAGABOND 

out  of  sheer  abandon.  It  would  have  been  so  easy  to 
have  given  the  excuse  of  a  scout,  he  thought.  "Did 
you  see  Miss  Lanley?"  he  continued. 

"Yes,  sir.     I  rode  with  her  for  a  half -hour." 

The  General  opened  a  paper  on  the  table  before 
him,  being  careful  not  to  show  its  back,  and  held  it 
out  for  the  Vagabond's  inspection. 

"Do  you  recognize  that  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  It's  a  map  of  our  position  that  I  made 
one  day  when  I  was  talking  to  Captain  Adams.  I  was 
just  yarning  about  my  favorite  theory  that  a  man  with 
a  thousand  troopers  like  mine  could  ride  clear  around 
the  Confederate  army  and  do  a  lot  of  damage,  cut  rail- 
roads and  telegraphs  and  destroy  supplies,  without  be- 
ing caught;  or  if  we  were,  our  loss  would  be  more  than 
repaid  by  the  damage  we  had  done." 

"So  they  could;  so  they  could!"  shouted  the  Gen- 
eral, touched  on  his  tenderest  spot.  "But  I  don't  say 
so.  I  don't  want  to  be  called  insane,  as  Sherman  is. 
You've  got  to  wait  on  the  procession — wait  till  Jeb 
Stuart  shows  us  how;  but — but" — there  he  stopped 
and  fastened  the  lock  of  his  armor.  "Never  mind 
that,  I  tell  you.  When  did  you  see  this  paper  last?" 

"When  I  put  it  away  in  the  box  where  I  keep  my 
papers,  a  week  or  ten  days  ago." 

"You  didn't  have  it  with  you  when  you  went  to  see 
Miss  Lanley?" 

"No,  sir." 

Again  the  General's  lips  b-r-red  and  he  drummed 
the  table  with  his  knuckles.  The  Vagabond's  gaze 
had  not  once  shifted  from  his;  the  Vagabond's  posi- 
tion had  not  once  changed  by  so  much  as  the  flicker  of 
a  muscle.  The  General,  used  to  having  others  non- 
298 


THE    VAGABOND 

plussed  when  lie  beetled  his  brows,  now  looked  away 
from  the  eyes  that  seemed  as  careless  of  his  shafts  as 
the  blue  skj.  He  sought  a  new  hypothesis.  Some 
seemingly  transparent  characters  knew  just  where  to 
groove  in  deception  with  truth. 

"Please  look  at  the  other  side!" 

He  scanned  the  Vagabond's  face  sharply  for  the  ef- 
fect of  the  inscription:  "For  General  Lee  from  Miss 
Lanley,  who  hopes  to  get  more  information  from  the 
same  source." 

"It's  a  lie!  It's  a  forgery!"  the  Vagabond  cried. 
He  leaned  toward  the  General  and  raised  himself  on 
tiptoes,  all  the  force  of  his  nature  in  his  words.  "I 
know  it's  a  lie  and  a  forgery!" 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  the  General,  immova- 
ble, in  his  turn,  and  relieved  that  he  had  struck  fire. 

"I  know  she  would  never  do  such  a  thing,"  he  said, 
impetuously,  with  all  the  faith  of  a  crusader. 

The  General  was  now  certain  of  his  clew — an  old 
and  familiar  one  where  a  man  and  a  woman  are  con- 
cerned. 

"Oh,  then  you  don't  know  by  comparison  with  her 
handwriting?" 

"It's  very  like  her  handwriting." 

"Oh!"  The  General  shifted  his  position  into  one 
still  more  forbidding,  determined  that  courtesy  was 
at  an  end.  "In  the  first  place,  you  are  guilty  of  a  con- 
siderable offence  in  leaving  the  lines  without  permis- 
sion— most  reprehensible  after  the  trust  I  placed  in 

you." 

No  sense  was  so  keen  in  the  Vagabond  as  that  of 
loyalty. 

"I  didn't  think  I  was  doing  so  wrong  at  the  time. 
299 


THE  VAGABOND 

You  know  that  once  before  I  made  a  ride  without,  per- 
mission— at  Bull  Run."  The  General  beamed;  then 
winced;  then  b-r-red.  "You  have  been  very  good  to 
me,  sir.  Since  Captain  Herrick's  death  I  have  looked 
up  to  you  in  everything.  It  is  the  delight  of  my  heart 
to  serve  you,  next  to — next" — and  there,  in  the  im- 
pulse and  with  the  candor  that  was  characteristic  of 
his  boyishness,  he  told  the  story  we  have  heard  before. 
That  seemed  the  only  way  of  making  himself  under- 
stood. 

The  General's  lips  twitched.  Possibly  he  recalled 
— certainly  Mrs.  Huested  would  have  recalled — a 
court-martial  for  a  love  escapade  of  his  own.  After 
that,  Lieutenant  Huested  had  put  on  his  armor  of 
soberness,  an  armor  which  Mrs.  Huested  could  re- 
lease in  one  piece  by  touching  a  magic  spring.  The 
picture  of  this  young  man,  truth  sitting  triumphant 
in  his  expression  and  in  every  word,  was  appealing. 
The  General  would  have  welcomed  the  place  of  advo- 
cate instead  of  judge. 

"Have  you  any  enemy  who  would  be  guilty  of 
stealing  this  paper  and  forging  the  superscription?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"No.  The  kind  that  strikes  in  the  dark  this  way 
doesn't  make  himself  known.  Hm-m!"  The  Gen- 
eral's first  manner  came  back  to  him.  "A  very  pe- 
culiar story  you  tell,  indeed,  sir,"  he  resumed. 

"That's  precisely  her  view,  sir." 

"You  mean — that  Miss  Lanley  does  not  encourage 
your  visits?" 

"Exactly,  sir." 

That  was  strange  if  she  was  making  a  cat's-paw  of 
him,  thought  the  General.  Possibly,  however,  Miss 

300 


THE  VAGABOND 

Lanley  was  deeper  than  lie  knew  and  had  chosen  tho 
best  way  to  bring  the  enemy  often  to  Lanleyton. 

"You  know  the  penalty  of  this?  It  is  death,"  he 
said.  "Lax  as  we  are,  I  believe  that  you  will  suffer 
it.  There  is  one  person  who  can  prove  the  falsity 
or  the  genuineness  of  this  signature  with  a  few 
scratches  of  her  pen,  and  that  is  Miss  Lanley.  There 
is  one  thing  and  one  thing  only  for  you  to  do — to 
bring  her  to  the  Union  lines." 

"I  cannot." 

He  imagined  his  men  drawn  up  in  line  before  her 
door,  while  he  mounted  the  steps  to  demand  that  she 
should  go  with  him  under  armed  escort  as  if  she  were 
a  prisoner. 

"It  is  the  only  way,"  said  the  General.  "Other- 
wise, I  must  order  a  formal  arrest." 

"Wouldn't  her  signature  do?" 

"Not  unless  I  saw  her  write  it.  Not  if  you  brought 
it." 

"You  mean  you  think  that  I" — the  Vagabond 
drove  his  nails  into  the  palms  of  his  hands  and  his 
tongue  to  silence  at  this  cold  adjudgment  of  his  word 
as  valueless. 

"If  she  cares  to  save  your  life  she  will  come  with- 
out urging.  If  not,  she  is  guilty." 

"She  is  not  guilty,  sir!"  He  could  not  restrain  that 
cry  for  her,  though  it  did  dispute  a  superior's  dictum. 
"I'll  go,  sir,  and  she'll  come;  I  know  she  will." 

His  face  scarlet  with  the  humiliation  that  he  had 
suffered  at  the  hands  of  military  formality,  he  brought 
his  hand  to  the  salute  and  waited  for  the  nod  that 
would  speed  him  on  his  way. 

The  General,  as  he  ran  his  eye  over  the  soldierly 
301 


THE  VAGABOND 

figure,  smiled.  They  were  no  longer  accuser  and  ac- 
cused, or  even  superior  and  subordinate,  but*  two  men 
with  the  affinity  of  personal  force  and  courage.  From 
under  his  cot  the  elder  brought  out  a  bottle  and  two 
glasses.  That  bottle  was  never  full  and  never  empty, 
his  friends  said.  When  he  put  it  on  the  table  with  a 
bang,  as  he  did  now,  business  was  over. 

"My  boy,"  he  said,  kindly,  "here's  hoping  that  you 
will  bring  the  girl  and  prove  yourself  innocent.  And 
bear  in  mind  that  in  an  invasion  a  woman  who  remains 
at  home  to  reap  only  the  bitterness  of  war  will  use  a 
woman's  weapon." 

When  the  Vagabond  had  gone,  as  the  General  put 
the  bottle  back  in  its  hiding-place  he  muttered  some- 
thing about  the  eternal  fascination  of  Quixotes;  then 
he  said  aloud: 

"There  were  times  when  he  made  me  feel  mean,  as 
if — I — I  weren't  a  gentleman — confound  him !  Con- 
found him!  I  admire  him!" 


802 


"YOU,   AGAIN  V9 

For  a  moment,  with  head-quarters  behind  him,  he 
had  pondered  over  the  General's  remark  about  a  wom- 
an's weapon  in  time  of  war.  Had  he  been  mistaken 
about  the  map  ?  Could  it  have  been  on  his  person  and 
fallen  out  of  his  pocket  at  Lanleyton?  ~No.  Or  if  it 
had,  she  never  had  written  the  words  which  conveyed 
it  to  General  Lee.  She  was  absolutely  incapable  of 
such  a  thing.  For  his  was  one  of  those  natures  that 
is  never  assailed  by  doubts  until  sudden  conviction  re- 
moves its  trust  at  a  blow.  He  believed  in  her,  and  the 
one  flutter  of  happiness  in  this  crisis  was  that  he  did. 

His  horror  and  his  determination  grew  with  his 
comprehension  of  the  charge  brought  against  him,  as 
he  hastened  along  the  army  street  coward  his  com- 
pany. He  recalled  many  things.  He  recalled  that 
his  love  for  her  and  that  deep  love  of  country  which 
makes  its  triumphs  and  its  defeats  your  personal  joy 
or  grief  had  been  born  on  the  same  day.  Before  that, 
he  had  had  only  the  faith  of  a  boy  in  his  venerable 
comrade,  so  far  as  human  institutions  were  concerned. 
To  him,  loyalty  was  an  instinct  as  much  as  a  code.  He 
stood  accused  of  giving  information  that  might  endan- 
ger his  General,  Tim,  Jimmy,  all  his  men  whose  hearts 
had  beat  with  him  in  the  charge,  the  clank  of  whose 

303 


THE  VAGABOND 

sabres,  the  rattle  of  whose  jests  on  the  march,  had 
given  him  security  and  pride. 

Regardless  of  the  hour  and  its  fitness  for  the  jour- 
ney, all  controlled  by  the  passion  which  reduced  him 
to  a  man  in  the  saddle  on  a  definite  errand,  he  set  out 
with  twenty  of  his  troop,  Tim  and  Jimmy  at  his  el- 
bows. The  pace  he  set  was  that  steady  trot  of  the 
long  march;  his  route  was  the  shortest,  by  the  road, 
as  if  he  were  not  in  the  range  of  that  restless  partisan, 
Southbridge.  When  the  event  was  happy  he  loved  to 
detail  it  for  the  pleasure  of  his  friends.  In  trouble 
he  could  not  talk;  he  could  not  help  keeping  his  own 
counsel. 

"In  a  time  like  this  it's  pleasant  to  know  that  you 
two  believe  in  me,  anyway,"  was  all  he  said. 

They  asked  no  further  questions,  such  is  the  deli- 
cacy of  strong  men  riveted  together  by  affection. 
Tim,  at  least,  had  seen  him  before  when  his  jaws  were 
set,  a  red  spot  flamed  in  his  cheek,  and  his  eyebrows 
were  drawn  together. 

He  had  come  to  know  the  country  around  as  the 
generals  of  a  hundred  years  ago  knew  their  Belgium. 
At  the  edge  of  the  little  grove,  a  patch  of  green  in  the 
valley  from  the  upper  windows  of  Lanleyton,  from 
which  the  Vagabonds  had  debouched  on  their  first 
charge  up  the  hill,  he  halted  his  company  and  bade 
them  wait  for  him.  He  was  not  going  again  into  her 
presence  with  a  force  at  his  back.  Alone,  still  at  the 
trot,  he  rode  up  the  hill  and  under  the  trees  once 
more.  The  sound  of  a  piano  made  him  stop  and  tie 
his  horse  to  one  of  the  trunks,  on  the  inspiration  of 
the  wide-open  door  which  showed  through  the  foliage. 

Thus  did  determination  riding  swiftly  to  the  point 
304 


THE    VAGABOND 

again  halt  under  the  brake  of  love.  Walking  on  the 
turf  instead  of  the  gravel  and  tiptoeing  up  the  steps 
and  across  the  threshold,  his  wish  was  gratified.  When 
unconscious  recognition  of  the  presence  of  another 
made  her  rest  her  fingers  on  the  keys  and  turn  her 
head,  he  was  as  motionless  as  a  statue,  cap  in  hand, 
his  present  suffering  forgotten. 

'Tow  again!" 

There  was  both  bitterness  and  resentment  in  her 
surprise,  making  him  realize  suddenly  how  abrupt 
and  ill-favored  was  his  stealthy  entrance. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "I  beg  your  pardon.  It  was  the 
music  that  made  me  come  in  so  quietly." 

"And  you  have  another  story  to  tell?"  she  said, 
looking  suggestively  toward  the  door  that  his  form 
barred. 

"Yes,  I  have,  more's  the  pity." 

Without  waiting  for  her  to  speak  the  curt  dis- 
missal which  he  saw  flaming  out  of  her  eyes  he 
poured  out  his  tale  and  his  request  in  even,  passionate 
tones. 

"What  you  ask,"  she  replied,  "is  that  I,  a  lone  girl, 
shall  accompany  you  to  the  Union  lines  on  your 
say-so." 

"My  say-so?" 

He  repeated  the  words  as  one  whose  mind  sounds 
in  horror  the  abysses  of  a  phrase's  meaning.  It  was 
she,  now,  who  doubted  his  word.  He  felt,  too,  with 
the  suddenness  of  absurdity  thrust  in  bold  relief,  the 
brutality  as  well  as  the  folly  of  what  he  asked. 

She  was  affected  by  his  exclamation  and  the  blank 
look  of  despair  that  accompanied  it,  but  the  memory 
of  the  way  he  had  led  her  to  listen  to  an  impossible 

305 


THE  VAGABOND 

story  helped  her  to  recover  herself  with  the  thought 
that  she  had  been  affected  in  the  same  way  when  she 
saw  Forrest  play. 

"Yes,"  she  replied.  "I  know  that  part  of  your  tale 
is  true.  I  did  meet  you  when  I  was  a  little  girl.  The 
rest  ?  I  know,  too,  from  your  own  account — that  you 
are  a  vagabond  in  search  of  adventure." 

He  started  and  put  up  his  hand  in  mute  protest. 
It  had  been  easy  for  him  to  keep  his  composure  in  face 
of  the  General's  frigid  stare;  but  the  cold  doubt  in 
her  eyes  made  him  a  poor  stumbler  for  words. 

"At  least  so  you  seem  to  me.  What  reason  have  I 
for  believing  otherwise?  What  reason  have  I  for 
playing  a  part  in  the  affairs  of  the  Yankee  army?" 

"None,  I  suppose — none,"  he  answered,  doggedly. 
"It  is  to  save  my — my  honor  that  I  come  to  you  who 
alone  can  save  it." 

"I  know — I — I — it  is  hard  to  resist  that  call  from 
anyone."  She  paused  in  thought.  "Your  General 
has  the  reputation  of  being  a  gentleman.  If  he  will 
personally  send  me  the  request  by  another  officer,  I 
will  send  a  reply  in  my  own  handwriting,  and " 

Her  sentence  stopped  there.  Southbridge,  in  the 
doorway,  one  hand  on  his  sabre  hilt,  not  thinking  it 
worth  while  to  frighten  Miss  Lanley  by  drawing  a 
revolver,  with  the  other  hand  tapped  the  Vagabond 
lightly  on  the  shoulder. 

"You  are  my  prisoner!"  he  said. 

If  you  have  ever  been  caught  in  such  a  position, 
you  know  how  fast  you  thought,  how  much  faster  you 
may  have  acted.  The  Vagabond's  instant,  overmas- 
tering idea  was  that  his  capture  meant  his  conviction 
in  the  eyes  of  the  General  and  his  friends.  Death 

306 


THE  VAGABOND 

was  as  much  preferable  to  it  as  sleep  is  to  a  nightmare, 
and  escape  alone  could  clear  him. 

That  game  trick  that  had  served  him  once  when  he 
stood  at  a  sheriff's  side  in  California  must  serve  him 
again.  Whirling  on  his  heel,  with  all  the  force  of  the 
movement  and  the  strength  of  his  arm  he  landed  a 
blow  of  his  naked  fist  where  it  would  do  the  most 
good.  Southbridge  careened  against  the  casing  and 
his  dead  weight  fell  across  the  threshold.  The  Vaga- 
bond flicked  his  revolver  in  the  face  of  his  enemy, 
stunned  physically  and  mentally  by  his  sudden  de- 
scent. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  he  said. 

"Not  at  all."  Before  he  could  be  prevented  the 
Confederate  had  seized  his  whistle  and  blown  a  call. 
"My  escort  is  outside  and  will  turn  the  tables  again." 

The  Federal  saw  the  point,  and  saw,  too,  that  there 
was  no  time  to  be  lost  in  acting  upon  it.  Still  cover- 
ing Southbridge,  he  stepped  backward  to  one  of  the 
great  windows  flush  with  the  floor.  There  he  glanced 
into  the  startled  face  of  Volilla  and  said,  appeal- 
ingly:  "My  honor  is  at  stake.  I  had  to  strike.  For- 
give me!"  Then  springing  to  the  end  of  the  porch, 
he  jumped  off. 

It  was  a  question  of  reaching  his  party  before  the 
escort  reached  him.  As  he  ran,  he  whipped  out  his 
knife,  and  cut  the  tie-strap  before  he  bounded  into 
the  saddle.  Looking  back  for  the  first  time,  as  he 
gave  Breaker  the  word,  not  a  single  Confederate,  so 
far  as  he  could  see  through  the  peep-holes  of  the 
foliage,  was  in  sight. 

In  meeting  trick  with  trick,  Southbridge,  whistling 
for  imaginary  relief,  had  thrown  the  last  trump.  The 

307 


THE  VAGABOND 

Vagabond's  first  impulse  on  realizing  how  he  had 
been  played  was  to  go  back  and  make  good  his  arrest. 
His  common-sense,  however,  quickly  told  him  that 
Southbridge,  with  his  pistol  cocked,  was  wishing  for 
just  such  a  development.  In  confirmation,  there  was 
a  puff  of  smoke  from  one  of  the  windows.  The  aim 
was  good,  for  the  target  felt  the  breath  of  the  bullet 
on  his  cheek.  ~No  more  shots  were  fired  as  he  rode 
across  the  open  space,  while  both  Jimmy  and  Tim 
came  out  from  the  edge  of  the  grove  to  meet  him ;  and 
this  Southbridge,  watching  through  his  glasses,  took 
as  evidence  of  a  larger  escort,  and  profited  by  it. 

Looking  back  from  the  grove,  there  was  no  sign  of 
life  about  the  house  on  the  hill,  and  the  Vagabond 
was  more  than  ever  convinced  that  Southbridge  was 
unaccompanied.  This  was  the  second  time  he  had 
fled  before  his  enemy;  the  temptation  of  combat 
called  for  him  to  return.  But  he  was  reminded  in 
time  that  he  could  save  his  honor  only  by  living ;  that 
he  carried  the  message  which  would  lead  to  proof  of 
his  innocence. 

He  now  became  as  preoccupied  with  reaching  the 
General  as  he  had  been  in  reaching  Lanleyton.  In 
going  as  in  coming,  he  took  the  road  in  file  of  twos 
at  a  trot  that  the  horses  could  keep  up  for  the  whole 
distance.  To  Jimmy's  suggestion  that  they  ought  to 
take  more  precautions  he  replied,  wi,th  a  little  laugh 
of  abandon,  that  he  was  in  a  hurry  and  there  was  no 
danger.  Had  he  not  left  Southbridge  behind  ?  He 
was  particularly  in  a  mood  to  believe  it  nonsensical 
that  in  this  neutral  zone  a  goblin  in  the  form  of  "Gin- 
ger" Southbridge's  cavalry  would  receive  telepathic 
notification  and  fly  to  any  point  where  a  Federal  sol- 

308 


THE    VAGABOND 

dier  might  appear.  It  did  not  occur  to  the  genius  of 
the  charge,  as  it  ought  and  would  under  other  condi- 
tions, that  at  the  gallop  any  body  of  horsemen  could 
pass  him  at  a  distance  and  swing  across  his  path. 

His  surprise  came  abruptly  as  his  column,  pass- 
ing through  a  stretch  of  woods,  turned  with  a  bend 
in  the  road.  Only  fifty  yards  ahead  he  saw  a  long 
line  of  Confederate  cavalry  half-way  across  the  road 
in  single  file,  evidently  bent  on  a  surrounding  move- 
ment. It  was  true  that  no  one  of  Southbridge's  men 
had  been  within  sound  of  his  whistle,  and  unhappily 
true  that  his  whole  force  was  riding  away  to  the  east- 
ward. Intending  to  rejoin  them  later,  he  had  gone, 
as  he  usually  did  when  his  daily  practice  rides  took 
him  into  the  neighborhood  of  Lanleyton,  to  pay  his 
respects  to  its  mistress. 

On  mutual  recognition,  the  Federals  stopped, 
and  every  Confederate,  as  if  his  part  for  such  an 
emergency  had  already  been  outlined  to  him,  wheeled 
his  horse  to  face  the  enemy.  The  Federals  were  two 
deep,  in  close  order;  the  Confederates  widely  sepa- 
rated, thus  making  escape  impossible  without  con- 
tact. The  negligence  that  had  kept  the  Vagabond's 
force  close  together  made  a  compact  wedge  against  a 
thin  line.  Southbridge  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
his  height  and  his  position  making  him  tower  over 
his  men,  called  to  them  in  a  great  voice  to  close  in. 
But  the  Vagabond  gave  no  time  for  the  execution  of 
the  order.  His  little  command  charged. 

"Sabre  to  sabre !"  he  cried,  exultantly,  with  flash- 
ing blade  uplifted,  not  to  his  own  men,  not  to  the  Con- 
federates, but  to  their  commander. 

While  Southbridge  was  a  statue,  his  hand  on  his 
309 


THE    VAGABOND 

hilt,  calculating  and  stiffening  himself  in  the  prop- 
erly cold  blood  of  one  receiving  a  blow,  the  blood  in 
the  Vagabond's  veins  was  like  wine,  and  his  brain 
was  swimming  with  the  one  thought  of  breaking 
guard  and  a  thrust  as  he  passed.  He  was  so  near  he 
could  see  his  opponent's  lips  parted  in  a  smile,  when 
Southbridge,  as  the  situation  demanded,  lifting  his 
revolver  instead  of  his  sabre,  fired  point-blank. 

With  the  readiness  of  the  hound  when  its  prey 
doubles,  the  Confederates  turned  and  gave  chase  to 
the  Federals,  who  encouraged  their  horses  with  spur 
and  shout,  leaving,  in  heart-breaking  necessity,  as  the 
only  occupant  of  the  field,  their  prostrate  leader. 


310 


XXXIII 

IN  HER  KEEPING 

In  falling,  the  Vagabond  had  been  stunned.  For 
some  minutes  he  lay  motionless.  Returning  con- 
sciousness was  quickened  by  the  caressing  touch  of 
something  as  soft  as  fine  old  leather,  first  on  his  fore- 
head, then  on  his  cheek.  His  eyelids  parted  with  the 
effort  of  windows  stuck  in  their  grooves,  and  he  saw 
the  bent  neck,  the  questioning  eyes  and  ears  of  a  true 
friend,  who,  having  missed  the  living  weight  on  his 
back,  would  learn  why  his  rider  had  stopped  playing 
the  game  so  abruptly. 

The  wounded  man's  first  dim  thought  was  one  of 
great  happiness  at  the  sight  of  a  dumb  companion's 
loyalty,  and  his  first  act  was  an  attempt  to  recognize 
it  with  a  grateful  pat.  He  tried  to  lift  his  hand  to 
Breaker's  muzzle,  tried  as  hard  as  he  would  to  lift 
a  weight  beyond  his  power,  and  failed.  Then  he 
sought  the  source  of  his  strange  weakness.  "Don't 
get  scared  about  a  thing  till  you  have  a  good  look  at 
it,"  he  whispered.  On  the  earth  beneath  him  was  a 
clot  of  blood ;  in  his  side  a  reddish  black  hole.  He 
regarded  it  hazily,  comprehended  that  despite  it  he 
was  still  living,  and  dismissed  the  subject  quite  sum- 
marily. 

His  mind  became  clearer;  his  strength  revived. 
He  looked  up  and  down  the  road  and  saw  nothing. 

311 


THE    VAGABOND 

The  walls  of  the  depression  where  he  lay  shut  out  his 
view  except  for  a  dusty  ribbon's  length.  Arduously, 
making  many  journeys  with  stages  of  rest,  he  lifted 
himself  to  a  sitting  posture.  The  soil,  spongy,  soft, 
and  red,  seemed  to  recede  and  then  to  press  close  to 
him,  to  rise  and  fall  with  the  throbs  of  his  brain.  At 
last  his  eyes  were  on  a  line  with  the  fields.  Now  he 
could  see,  if  the  little  red  spots  would  not  keep 
dancing  before  him. 

"Southbridge  put  them  there,"  he  thought;  "but 
he  didn't  know  that  I  could  blink  them  away." 

So  far  as  he  could  discern,  no  living  thing  was  near. 
A  bowlder  shut  out  part  of  his  vista. 

"Southbridge  put  it  there,"  he  thought;  "but  he 
can't  beat  me  that  way." 

He  made  a  great  effort  to  look  over  it,  and  fell 
back  in  a  collapse.  Had  they  got  away  safely  ?  Had 
his  friends,  whom  his  folly  had  led  into  trouble,  es- 
caped ?  He  looked  at  the  horse,  as  if  making  inquiry 
from  one  who  had  seen  the  finish  of  the  affair. 
Breaker  only  seemed  to  tantalize  him  with  a  posture 
which  said: 

"I  don't  understand  it  at  all.  You  and  I — we've 
always  been  ahead  of  all  those  other  horses.  Come 
on!" 

The  fever  resulting  from  his  wound  crept  upon 
him.  His  tongue  seemed  on  a  grate  in  an  oven. 
Water,  water ! — that  would  put  out  the  red  spots. 

"You  didn't  know  water  would  do  it,  did  you, 
Southbridge?"  he  whispered. 

He  recalled  that  cavalry-men  carried  canteens. 
Granting  that  they  did,  then  he  must  have  one.  He 
looked  toward  the  rings  on  his  saddle-tree  from  which 

312 


THE    VAGABOND 

it  always  hung.  It  ought  to  be  there — the  red  spots 
would  get  in  the  way  I — it  ought  to  be — yes,  it  was ! 
If  he  rose  to  his  knees  he  could  reach  it.  He  started 
to  rise,  and  tottered  over  at  full  length.  His  arms, 
trying  to  break  the  fall,  had  been  as  ineffectual  as 
two  straws.  For  some  time  he  was  prostrate,  with- 
out seeing  or  feeling  or  thinking,  and  when  his  senses 
came  back  it  was  the  thirst-devil  who  brought  them 
with  a  lash. 

"It's  not  fair,  Southbridge,  to  hit  a  man  after  he's 
down;  but  you  haven't  got  me  licked — not  a  bit  of 
it!" 

Without  a  drink  he  could  not  reach  the  canteen; 
with  a  drink  he  was  sure  he  could  mount  and  ride 
away.  He  tried  to  wet  his  lips  against  his  tongue, 
and  felt  only  the  rubbing  of  cracked,  dry  leather,  as 
he  slowly  lifted  himself  back  to  a  sitting  posture. 
This  accomplished,  he  smiled  with  the  satisfaction  of 
one  who  has  solved  a  problem.  If  he  could  not  go  to 
the  canteen,  it  might  be  brought  to  him.  Had  he  not 
taught  his  horse  a  trick  not  in  the  cavalry  regulations 
of  that  day  ?  He  looked  up  at  Breaker  with  the  re- 
solve of  an  army  corps  entering  upon  a  charge,  and 
with  all  the  strength  of  voice  that  he  could  command 
he  called  the  order  to  lie  down,  and  at  the  same  time 
seized  the  hanging  bridle-rein.  Losing  his  balance, 
he  was  prostrate  again,  with  his  hopes  on  the  cast. 

He  saw  the  animal  put  out  those  signs  which  ever 
indicate  his  action  to  the  trained  rider,  and  knew 
that  he  was  to  quench  his  thirst  unless  the  water- 
bearer  fell  upon  the  canteen  or  upon  him. 

"If  you  trip  him  I'll  pay  you  back,  Southbridge — • 
so  help  me,  God,  I  will!" 

313 


THE  VAGABOND 

Himself  powerless  to  move,  he  watched  Breaker's 
movement  as  he  would  the  tumbling  of  the  beams  of 
a  prison  which  were  to  crush  him  or  to  give  him  lib- 
erty. An  evolution  which  is  done  so  quickly  that  the 
spectators  on  the  benches  see  only  a  horse  up  and  then 
a  horse  down,  was  to  him  a  process  of  many  stages, 
till  the  knees  were  bent,  the  weight  thrown  forward 
upon  them,  and  the  body  was  on  the  ground,  close- 
pressing  but  not  resting  on  his  own,  and  the  canteen 
lying  almost  at  his  lips.  He  drank  and  drank,  and 
lo !  the  red  spots  were  gone.  He  drank  until  the  can- 
teen was  empty  and  his  mind  seemed  quite  clear 
again,  and  the  whole  purport  of  his  position  was  in 
range  of  his  comprehension. 

"Oh,  the  gurgle  of  it !"  he  said  to  Breaker.  "It 
sounds  like  one  of  our  mountain  brooks,  so  cool  to 
taste,  so  cool  to  bathe  in,  so  cool  to  lull  you  to  sleep 
when  the  day's  journey  is  done.  There's  no  line  of 
pickets,  no  riding  up  and  down,  no  rule  of  thumb  out 
there.  You  shall  see.  You're  going  back  with  me 
when  this  business  is  over — this  tricking  policemen 
is  over — and  we  won't  go  till  it  is.  We  aren't  quit- 
ters, my  boy.  You  needn't  carry  a  pack.  I'll  go 
afoot  on  the  steep  places  and  ride  you  only  on 
the  levels.  But  first — first  we'll  meet  Southbridge. 
We'll  be  as  cool  as  he  is  next  time — oh,  yes,  we 
will." 

That  was  the  respite  from  his  misery,  the  imme- 
diate expression  of  his  gratitude  and  relief  to  the 
loyal  water-carrier,  before  he  turned  to  the  mission 
that  had  brought  him,  wounded,  to  the  dust.  Of  his 
friends'  safety  he  was  now  confident.  He  realized 
that  they  must  have  had  enough  start  to  make  cer. 

314 


THE    VAGABOND 

tain  their  escape.  Fugitive  ideas  rallying  into  se- 
quence with  pride  as  field-master,  he  cried,  hoarsely : 

"I've  run  away  from  Southbridge !  I  didn't  bring 
her !  I've  led  my  men  into  a  trap !  I've  been  rolled 
in  the  dust  like  a  boy  who  falls  off  a  wagon's  tail  at 
the  crack  of  the  driver's  whip!  I'd  be  a  baby  to  go 
back  to  the  General  with  a  Tlease,  sir'  and  such  a  tale ! 
So  help  me,  God,  I  won't!  I  won't!" 

Thanks  to  the  water,  he  was  exultant  with  a  new 
purpose.  Though  he  must  pay  in  full  the  debt  he 
owed  Southbridge,  that,  in  turn,  must  wait  on  his 
honor.  His  determination  became  as  high  as  his 
pulse.  But —  His  sabre !  he  suddenly  thought.  It  was 
not  in  its  scabbard.  His  sabre — that  emblem  of  an 
officer's  very  existence !  Yes,  he  remembered  that  he 
had  it,  had  drawn  it.  It  must  have  dropped  from  his 
hand  when  Southbridge  shot  him.  He  looked  about, 
and  whispered  his  joy  as  he  saw  it  lying  three  or  four 
yards  away — twenty  yards  it  seemed  to  him.  How 
could  it  have  fallen  so  far,  he  wondered,  as  he 
crawled  toward  it.  Once  he  had  it  in  his  hands,  he 
hugged  it  insanely: 

"I've  work  for  you,  work  for  you  yet,"  he  said, 
confidentially. 

He  drew  around  the  scabbard  that  had  trailed  at 
his  side,  and  after  trembling  efforts  the  point  by 
chance  found  the  sheath  and  went  home.  It  had 
not  been  so  far  away  after  all,  he  told  himself.  But 
the  assurance  that  would  stifle  the  truth  was  useless. 
Those  three  or  four  yards  had  been  a  terrible  march 
for  him.  The  red  spots  were  coming  again.  Pooh ! 
All  they  needed  was  drowning.  If  he  had  another 
canteen  full  of  water  he  would  feel  fit  for  a  twenty- 

315 


THE  VAGABOND 

mile  ride ;  it  would  be  easier,  too,  to  mount.  As  if 
in  answer  to  his  wish,  a  pool  by  the  roadside,  which 
he  had  not  seen  before,  materialized. 

With  outstretched  hands,  that  did  not  steady  his 
body  as  -it  sank,  he  put  his  lips  to  it  and  drank  the 
mire  until  his  tongue  tasted  mud.  The  red  spots 
were  gone.  With  the  lurch  of  intoxication,  exerting 
a  feverish  impulse,  he  reached  his  feet  and  laughed 
hollowly  to  think  how  strong  he  was,  though  he  had 
to  steady  himself  out  of  dizziness  by  leaning  against 
the  horse ;  how  his  plan  was  already  as  good  as  ex- 
ecuted. Of  course  he  could  mount  in  the  usual  way 
if  he  chose ;  but  he  had  better  save  his  strength,  when 
he  might,  for  a  crisis.  Had  not  Father  Bob  always 
advised  that?  With  short,  staggering  steps,  that 
he  believed  to  be  sturdy,  long  ones,  he  led  Breaker 
to  the  embankment,  clambered  upon  it,  and  with  a 
bound  found  himself  in  the  saddle.  The  cost  was 
the  reopening  of  his  wound,  which  he  did  not  realize. 
Had  he  not  had  a  good  look  at  that  and  decided  that 
it  was  not  worth  being  scared  about  ? 

Through  the  gathering  dusk,  riding  slowly  on  the 
reserve  force  of  anticipation  and  will,  calling  out 
aloud  that  he  was  trying  to  make  pain  out  of  a  pin- 
prick, in  dizzy  adherence  to  a  single  object,  he  kept 
on  till  he  was  before  the  open  door  which  spelled  the 
descent  of  his  fortunes  and  his  hope  of  happiness. 
All  his  ebbing  strength  was  banked  on  an  effort 
which  carried  him  to  a  light  in  the  drawing-room, 
where  she  had  just  risen  from  a  chair  by  the  reading- 
table.  His  wound  now  bled  so  profusely  that  his 
hand,  involuntarily  placed  over  it,  was  red  between 
the  fingers.  His  set  jaw,  ashen  face,  and  feverishly 

316 


THE    VAGABOND 

glistening  eyes,  with  his  wet  and  muddied  uniform, 
made  a  picture  of  war's  reality  without  the  drums, 
the  flags,  the  cheers,  and  the  shouting.  She  sprang 
to  her  feet  with  a  cry,  while  he  was  tottering  like  a 
strong  column  undermined. 

"I  came  to  take  you  to  the  General  to  save " 

He  clutched  at  the  door-frame,  swooning,  and  she 
=ased  his  fall  with  her  own  arms. 


317 


XXXIV 

0EEPEB  THAN  SHE  THOUGHT 

The  blood  from  his  wound  streaked  her  skirt ;  the 
weight  of  his  body  brought  her  to  her  knees  as  it 
struck  the  floor.  In  order  to  save  his  life  she  under- 
stood that  certain  things  must  be  done  quickly.  While 
with  her  scissors,  snatched  from  the  work-basket,  she 
cut  away  the  cloth  from  the  wound,  a  servant  hastened 
for  cotton,  which  she  stuffed  into  the  vomiting  red 
hole. 

With  the  first  glimmer  of  consciousness,  he  felt 
something  heavenly  cool  crossing  and  recrossing  his 
forehead  and  making  little  side  excursions  down  his 
cheeks.  He  partly  opened  his  eyes  and  then  closed 
them  again,  lest  he  should  frighten  her  away,  and 
floated  on  the  elysium  of  her  soft  touch,  thinking  of 
neither  the  past  nor  the  future.  When  she  saw  that 
he  was  breathing  regularly  again,  she  drew  away  as 
if  that  had  made  her  service  indelicate. 

"Thank  you!"  he  murmured,  while  through  his 
half-closed  lids  he  saw  in  her  face  still  another  ex- 
pression, new  to  him,  an  expression  so  gentle,  so  so- 
licitous, so  soothing  that  it  made  him  forget  all  else 
save  the  joy  of  contemplating  it. 

"Is  there  anything  else — a  drink  ?"  she  asked. 

"If  you  please.  That  you  put  on  my  face  seemed 
so  cool — so  cool." 

318 


THE  VAGABOND 

When  she  brought  a  glass  he  tried  to  rise ;  impul- 
sively, she  put  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"You  must  not  move.    It  is  bad  for  you,"  she  said. 

So  helpless  was  he  that  it  seemed  easy  for  her  to 
hold  him  down  with  the  pressure  of  one  slim  finger. 
She  held  the  glass  and  steadied  his  head,  while  he 
drank  the  sweetest  draught  he  had  ever  tasted. 

"So  cool,  so  cool ;  thank  you,"  he  said. 

When  the  flow  of  his  wound  was  stanched,  the 
servants  improvised  a  litter  and  carried  him  up  the 
broad  stairs  with  a  gentleness  which  his  old-time 
training  vouchsafed  to  the  African.  To  the  sick  man 
it  seemed  as  if  he  had  been  borne  a  thousand  feet 
toward  the  skies.  His  face  twitched  with  pain  as 
he  was  transferred  to  the  bed ;  but  when  he  felt  its 
soft  mattress  and  she  placed  a  pillow  under  his  head, 
he  smiled  in  blissful  gratitude. 

"How  did  you  let  me  down  so  easily  when  you 
took  me  up  so  far  ?"  he  asked. 

"On  a  cloud,  sah.  Jes'  as  easy,  jes*  as  easy,"  said 
Marcus  Aurelius. 

"On  a  cloud,"  he  repeated,  vacantly. 

His  helplessness  made  him  only  a  brave  man  and 
a  fallen  enemy  whose  life  depended  on  her  care.  She 
would  not  trust  anyone  else  to  give  him  the  medicines 
which  her  experience  in  doctoring  on  the  plantation 
warranted  her  in  prescribing.  After  the  servants 
were  abed  and  the  house  was  silent,  she  sat  by  his 
side.  The  candle  threw  flickering  shadows  about  the 
room  and  over  his  white  face,  and  now  and  then  he 
broke  into  irrational  speech.  It  was  a  strange  posi- 
tion for  her  to  be  in.  Yet  the  events  had  so  forced 
the  necessity  that  she  did  not  think  of  it  in  that  light. 

319 


THE  VAGABOND 

Her  whole  interest  was  in  the  patient,  whose  fever 
increased  as  the  night  wore  on. 

"And  this  is  soldiering,"  he  said,  deliriously,  "this 
going  back  and  forth,  back  and  forth — this  tricking 
policemen !  It's  not  my  habit.  If  you  put  me  in  a 
pen  I'd  do  my  morning  walk  in  a  circle,  so  as  not  to 
have  to  retrace  my  steps.  A  man  gets  to  feel  as 
gritty  as  the  sand  in  an  hour-glass.  The  army  keeps 
turning  him  over  so  he  can  flow  back  again  through 
the  same  little  hole.  Take  a  handicap,  Southbridge, 
if  you  want  to,  only  come  on — come  on!" 

When  she  gave  him  water  he  would  recur  to  the 
cool  mountain-streams  and  the  camp-fire's  glow. 
When  the  torture  of  pain  and  thirst  mounted  to  his 
brain,  he  was  unhorsed,  fighting  for  his  life  without 
a  weapon.  For  his  strongest  delusion  was  that 
Southbridge  had  his  sabre.  Finally,  she  brought  it 
to  him  from  the  chair  where  it  had  been  laid  in  the 
room  below.  He  put  his  fingers  weakly  on  its  handle, 
thinking  he  had  it  in  a  grip  of  iron,  and  began  to 
banter  Tim  and  Jimmy  in  the  full  tilt  of  action. 
Once  more  he  was  the  leader  of  a  hundred  vagabonds 
spoiling  for  adventure.  Lying  as  if  he  were  dead, 
except  for  an  occasional  turning  of  his  head,  he  had 
travelled  thousands  of  miles ;  he  had  crawled  in  the 
dust  in  quest  of  a  drink ;  he  had  led  a  charge  exult- 
antly— while  she  saw  that  he  was  growing  worse. 

A  strong  man  expending  his  last  gasp  against 
great  odds  is  far  more  attractive  than  a  strong  man 
in  victory.  Aside  from  the  bitterness  of  a  family 
war,  aside  from  the  story  he  had  told  her,  his  de- 
termination to  take  her  to  the  Union  lines  when  his 
life-blood  was  pouring  from  his  side,  his  youth,  his 

820 


THE  VAGABOND 

falling  with  his  face  toward  the  goal,  and  the  fact 
that  he  was  too  weak  to  realize  his  position,  made  his 
fight  against  death  wholly  her  own.  She  had  done 
everything  she  could  for  him;  she  must  wait  in  si- 
lence for  the  results,  and  keep  the  compresses  on  his 
head  fresh.  Nearness  had  given  him  a  charm  she 
could  not  deny.  He  was  a  type  of  man  who  would 
be  a  hero  to  his  valet.  If  she  could  have  expressed 
her  feelings  she  would  have  considered  him  as  a 
splendid,  erring  brother,  whose  chivalry  had  earned 
him  forgiveness. 

Well  into  the  morning  she  uttered  a  cry  of  thanks, 
for  she  saw  that  her  medicines  were  beginning  to 
take  effect.  His  talk,  though  still  irrational,  became 
less  erratic,  and  dwelt  more  on  the  things  that  had 
made  him  happy  and  on  those  secrets  which  sanity 
never  imparts.  She  heard  him  laying  his  soul  bare, 
and  felt  as  if  she  were  an  eavesdropper ;  and  yet  she 
remained  listening.  The  simplicity  and  boyishness 
of  a  vagabond's  nature  were  revealed,  and  she  knew 
by  the  supremest  of  tests  that  the  "story"  was  not  the 
pastime  of  a  soldier's  imagination.  Her  breath 
caught  at  every  mention  of  her  name — a  she  spoken 
with  affection,  almost  with  awe,  as  if  it  stood  for  an 
unattainable  grace. 

"A  house  on  a  hill-side  overlooking  grassy  slopes, 
and  a  great  mountain  in  the  background,  and  good 
horses  and  finding  gold  and  bringing  home  the  lion's 
skin  for  her — for  her — and  journeys  into  many 
strange  lands  and  pleasant  places  with  her — with 
her!"  he  exclaimed,  finally,  and  fell  into  the  sleep 
of  exhaustion  when  the  crisis  had  passed. 

In  the  whirl  of  her  emotion,  she  half  wished  that 
321 


THE    VAGABOND 

she  had  not  heard  him,  and  she  was  half  glad  that 
she  had.  She  had  the  pride  of  her  sex ;  she  felt  the 
triumph  of  being  loved  in  this  way — and  he  was  bet- 
ter. His  lips  moved  again,  and  she  bent  her  head  to 
listen. 

"Of  giving  information  against  my  Vagabonds,  my 
General,  my  country !  There  is  nothing  false  in  her 
— nothing !  She  could  not,  did  not,  write  it !  I  will 
go  for  her." 

She  stiffened,  as  one  does  with  a  sudden  resolution, 
and  pressed  her  lips  firmly  together.  For  some  time 
she  watched  him,  but  he  said  nothing  more.  When 
she  went  to  her  room  an  hour  before  dawn,  it  was  to 
put  on  her  riding-habit. 

"You  are  deeper  than  you  think,  as  a  crisis  might 
show,"  Richard  Bulwer  had  told  her. 


322 


XXXV 


By  fields  and  lanes  and  over  fences  she  had  rid- 
den as  if  the  success  of  her  mission  depended  on 
speed.  Her  horse's  neck  and  shoulders  were  spat- 
tered with  foam;  her  face  was  flushed  with  exercise 
and  the  press  of  autumn  air  and  keen  with  her  object 
as  she  appeared  before  General  Huested's  tent  just 
as  he  was  about  to  sit  down  to  his  morning  coffee. 
Though  a  glance  had  told  him  half  the  truth,  the 
lively  and  charming  picture  made  by  the  young 
woman  suddenly  burst  into  camp  would  of  itself  have 
caused  the  spontaneous  alacrity  with  which  he  sprang 
to  her  side  to  assist  her  to  alight,  leaving  the  officer 
who  had  received  her  from  the  amazed  corporal  of 
the  guard  feeling  rather  awkward. 

"I  am  Miss  Lanley.  Our  house  is  some  distance 
outside  your  lines,"  she  said.  "Your  Captain  Will- 
iams came  there  badly  wounded  late  yesterday  after- 
noon. I  nursed  him  through  the  night.  I  did  not 
send  for  a  Confederate  surgeon,  for  I  feared  that  he 
would  make  him  a  prisoner,  and  I  thought  it  unfair 
under  the  circumstances  that  he  should  be  made  one. 
If  you  will  send  a  surgeon  back  with  me,  I  think  I 
can  assure  you  that  he  will  run  little  risk  of  capture." 

The  General  bowed  from  the  hips — for  the  first 
time  in  many  weeks. 

323 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Captain  Jameson,  go  to  Colonel  Whipple,  of  the 
Second  Maine,  and  present  my  compliments  and  tell 
him  to  send  a  surgeon  mounted." 

The  Second  Maine  was  clear  at  the  end  of  the  line, 
and  Captain  Jameson,  who  had  not  spoken  to  a  pretty 
woman  for  a  month,  showed,  under  the  mask  of  his 
humble  salute,  that  he  fully  realized  the  fact. 

"Good-morning,  sir,  and  thank  you,"  said  Volilla 
to  the  Captain,  and,  slightly  oblivious  of  the  General, 
she  patted  Folly's  neck  and  called  him  a  hero.  The 
very  deliberation  with  which  she  did  this  was  indic- 
ative enough,  in  a  girl  of  spirit  and  self-possession, 
of  how  great  was  the  strain  of  her  position  and  how 
distasteful  her  journey  alone  to  the  enemy's  camp. 

"Take  this  horse  and  rub  him  down  thoroughly," 
the  General  said  to  his  orderly. 

"And  walk  him  a  little.  He's  had  a  hard  run,  and 
it's  chilly  this  morning,"  she  added. 

"I'd  carry  him,  Miss,  if  you  said  so,"  the  orderly 
blurted,  though  orderlies  are  to  be  seen  at  all  times 
and  never  heard.  He  had  not  spoken  to  a  pretty 
woman  for  two  months. 

If  it  was  her  intention  to  give  the  impression  of  a 
visitor  of  state,  who  had  come  to  do  a  favor  and  would 
go  when  she  pleased,  she  succeeded  admirably. 

Inclining  from  the  hips  and  smiling,  the  General 
held  back  the  tent-flap  for  her  to  enter,  while  the  stern 
warrior  had  something  of  the  feeling  of  an  inveterate 
gossip  who  is  about  to  have  a  long-puzzling  mystery 
explained. 

"Thank  you."  She  laid  her  riding-crop  on  the 
table  and  remained  standing,  though  he  bowed  her  to 
a  seat.  "I  have  come,  too,  to  disprove  a  malicious 

324 


THE    VAGABOND 

and  false  accusation  against  Captain  Williams,  based 
on  my  signature,  I  believe.     Are  these  your  writing 
materials?"     She  turned  to  the  field-desk.     "May  I, 
use  them  ?" 

"Yes,  certainly,"  replied  the  General. 

He  was  as  flustered  as  a  young  volunteer  in  the 
presence  of  an  old  regular. 

"What  shall  I  write  ?"  she  asked. 

He  understood  her  quick  appreciation  of  method, 
and  he  was  inwardly  paying  the  Vagabond's  taste  a 
compliment  as  he  unlocked  a  drawer  in  the  desk  and 
took  out  the  map. 

"Now,  if  you  please,"  he  said,  and  read  the  su~ 
perscription  in  her  own  name.  She  copied  it  in  a 
manner  as  off-hand  as  if  she  were  taking  notes  on  a 
lecture,  and  handed  the  result  to  him. 

"Not  the  same  at  all,"  he  said,  immediately  he 
made  the  comparison. 

"Of  course,"  she  replied. 

"I  knew  that  he  was  innocent !  I  knew  he  was !" 
the  General  exclaimed,  in  boyish  delight. 

She  rose,  and  her  manner  asked  if  that  was  all. 
But  he  would  listen  to  no  refusal;  she  shared  his 
breakfast. 

"There  is  one  more  question,"  he  said,  as  he  handed 
her  an  egg  on  a  tin  plate.  "The  forger  must  have 
known  both  you  and  the  Captain.  Do  you  suspect 
who  he  is  ?" 

"I  am  quite  certain.  He  has  forged  my  name  once 
before — Aikens,  an  overseer  discharged  for  fraud 
and  worse.  I  believe  he  is  an  abolitionist,  now,"  she 
added,  a  little  maliciously. 

"Likely !"  said  the  General,  fiercely,  "and  a  quar- 
325 


THE    VAGABOND 

termaster — the  worst  combination  and  the  worst 
enemy  the  Union  army  has.  I  am  looking  for  Mr. 
Aikens.  I  remember  him,  a  man  in  a  pepper-and- 
salt  suit  and  a  linen  duster  with  the  tails  flying." 

"Yes,  always  flying." 

Thereafter,  until  the  surgeon  came,  they  talked  of 
the  Southern  officers  with  whom  the  General  had 
served  in  the  regulars  or  had  been  schooled  at  the 
Point.  There  was  a  peculiar  absence  of  any  feeling 
toward  them  other  than  that,  in  choosing  sides  for 
a  game,  they  had  happened  to  be  his  opponents. 
When  he  had  helped  her  to  mount,  he  said : 

"Tell  the  Captain  that  his  General  sends  his  love, 
that  no  one  of  his  companions  was  injured,  and  that 
they  await  his  return  no  less  anxiously  than  I." 

"He  will  be  as  safe  in  my  house  as  I  can  make  him 
until  he  recovers,"  she  replied. 

"The  Captain  is  a  splendid  fellow.  May  I  con- 
gratulate you  ?"  he  went  on,  a  little  mischievously. 

Too  late,  he  saw  the  error  of  this  remark ;  too  late, 
he  saw  that  he  had  been  the  first  one  to  inject  into  her 
visit  the  disagreeable,  which  he  of  all  men  would 
have  guarded  against  at  every  turn. 

"Congratulate  me !"  she  exclaimed,  contracting  her 
brows.  "Congratulate  me  on  having  to  come  unac- 
companied to  the  Union  lines !" 

"No ;  on  saving  the  Captain's  life." 

"Oh!"  She  understood  now.  Her  glance  of  in- 
dignation and  anger  made  him  feel  smaller  than  he 
had  since  his  first  day  in  the  awkward  squad  at 
the  Academy. .  She  was  imperious ;  she  was  mag- 
nificent. "I  wish  you  to  know,  sir,"  she  said,  "that 
the  sole  object  that  brought  me  here  was  to  remedy 

326 


THE    VAGABOND 

an  injustice  done  by  a  loathsome  Yankee  to  a  brave 
Yankee  who  could  not  speak  for  himself.  When  Cap- 
tain Williams  came  wounded  to  my  house  I  made  it 
a  refuge,  in  the  name  of  common  humanity.  I  re- 
gard him  as  I  regard  you  and  every  soldier  here — 
an  unlawful  invader,  to  be  fought  to  the  bitter  end. 
Good-morning !" 

Having  seen  the  pair  depart,  the  surgeon  feeling 
decidedly  up  in  the  world,  the  General  entered  his 
tent  and  did  something  quite  unusual.  He  brought 
out  that  bottle  and  a  glass  and  drank  alone. 


327 


XXXVI 

SOUTHBKIDGE   APPEARS 

Long  before  the  journey  was  at  an  end,  the  sur- 
geon, unused  to  riding,  had  no  question  about  his 
preference  for  vehicles,  on  the  score  of  dignity  if 
nothing  else.  The  saving  grace  of  down-East  humor 
which  never  surrenders  to  a  predicament  kept  him  in 
favor  with  his  companion.  When  Folly  took  a  fence 
and  his  own  horse  refused  the  obstruction,  he  said : 

"We  have  strict  orders  not  to  destroy  the  enemy's 
property.  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  court-martialed  for 
breaking  that  top  rail." 

So  he  dismounted  and  removed  not  only  the  top  one 
but  four  more,  as  he  did  in  other  places. 

The  old  coachman  and  the  stableman  met  them  at 
the  curb,  while  the  venerable  Marcus  Aurelius  stood 
in  the  doorway,  feeling  something  of  his  old-time  im- 
portance as  he  told  of  the  condition  of  the  patient. 

"He  jes'  woke  up  an'  smile  an'  say,  'Yo'  here  wid 
me  all  night  ?'  'No,  sah,'  I  say,  'Missy  Lanley  was.' 
At  dat,  he  look  like  he  had  a  lump  o'  sugah  an'  could 
tas'e  him  all  de  way  down  to  his  toes.  Den  he  say, 
'Is  she  restin'  now  ?'  I  say  yo'  was,  t'inkin'  dat  de 
bes'  way  to  make  him  res'.  'Feared  jes'  like  he  had 
'nothah  lump  o'  sugah." 

"I'll  announce  that  you  are  coming,"  she  told  the 
328 


\ 


THE   VAGABOND 

surgeon,  impulsively,  "so  you — you'll  not  take  him 
by  surprise." 

It  was  a  poor  excuse,  as  she  realized  with  a  sting- 
ing in  her  cheeks  before  she  was  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  when  she  thought  of  the  knowing  turn  in  the 
surgeon's  mouth  and  the  twinkle  in  his  eyes.  In 
truth,  she  wanted  to  tell  the  sick  man  the  news  with 
her  own  lips ;  to  enjoy  his  reception  of  it  as  a  reward 
for  what  it  had  cost  her.  That  was  all,  quite  all ;  the 
same  feeling  that  makes  you  watch  the  face  of  a 
friend  when  he  opens  the  box  that  contains  your 
present. 

Entering  his  room  softly,  not  so  much  from  plan 
as  from  the  dramatic  instinct  that  is  inherent  in  us 
all,  she  found  him  looking  vacantly  at  the  wall.  At 
the  same  instant  that  he  became  conscious  of  her 
presence  she  spoke  in  smiling  triumph,  in  the  spirit 
of  the  swift  ride  which  still  thrilled  her,  the  happy 
news  that  she  had  brought. 

"You  are  proved  innocent !  The  General  sends  his 
love  and  wishes  for  your  speedy  recovery." 

She  saw  his  face  change,  as  if  morning  had  flashed 
out  of  darkness. 

"It  was  you  who  did  this  for  me!" 

Such  strength  as  he  could  command  brought  him  to 
his  elbow.  Then  he  noticed  that  she  was  in  her  rid- 
ing-habit, and  that  there  were  spatters  of  mud  on  her 
skirt. 

"You  have  been  to  the  Union  lines  on  my  account ! 
You  have  done  all  this  for  me!"  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  way  he  spoke  the  "you"  that  made  her 
regret  his  knowledge  of  the  fact.  "Now  you  must 
rest;  you  will  rest,"  he  added,  fondly,  entreatingly,  as 

329 


THE    VAGABOND 

if  to  say  that  this  must  precede  his  speaking  of  many 
things. 

"Yes.    I — I  only  came  to  tell  you." 

She  did  not  want  to  look  into  his  eyes  again;  she 
sought  an  opportunity  to  retreat. 

"And  Jimmy  and  Tim  and  my  Vagabonds?  I 
must  know  that !" 

"All  safe.    They  wait  for  you." 

"And  you  have  brought  this  good  news !  You  have 
done  all  this  for  me  I" 

He  sank  back  on  the  pillow,  the  two  pronouns 
joined  in  the  refrain  of  his  happiness.  She  did  not 
wish  to  hear  them  repeated  again,  and  hastened  out 
without  having  mentioned  the  surgeon  at  all.  While 
he  was  with  the  patient  she  was  writing  a  note  to  Mrs. 
Bulwer,  an  imperative  note,  which  she  sent  with  all 
haste. 

When  the  surgeon  returned  from  the  sick-room  he 
was  in  high  feather. 

"Look  here,  did  he  ride  four  miles  with  that 
wound  ?"  he  asked,  breezily.  "Or  is  it  an  illusion  ?" 

Everything,  including  his  own  acts,  seemed  to 
speak  in  the  Vagabond's  praise,  she  thought,  grudg- 
ingly. 

"Yes,  a  good  four  miles,"  she  replied,  almost  dis- 
mally. 

"He's  a  wonder.  That  bullet  played  hide  and  seek 
all  about  his  ribs.  Fortunately,  it  got  tired  near  the 
surface.  A  slit  of  the  skin  and  it  was  out.  He's  ter- 
ribly weak  from  loss  of  blood  and  fever,  but  time  and 
careful  nursing  are  all  that's  needed  to  do  the  trick. 
I  know  from  the  marvellous  way  you  have  looked  after 
him  so  far  that  he  will  get  both." 

330 


THE  VAGABOND 

Thereupon,  that  Yankee  surgeon,  who  had  a  way 
of  caring  for  himself,  asked  if  he  might  have  a  cup 
of  coffee.  This  developed  the  fact  that  he  had  had 
no  breakfast,  and,  furthermore,  that  the  black  cook 
had  begun  to  prepare  one  with  plantation  extrav- 
agance as  soon  as  the  return  of  her  mistress  was  an- 
nounced. At  the  head  of  her  own  table  Volilla  made 
use  of  her  opportunity  with  the  art  of  an  adept. 

"I  have  done  something  for  one  of  your  officers, 
and  now  I  am  going  to  ask  one  of  your  officers  to  do 
something  for  me,"  she  said.  "The  ride  I  made  this 
morning  was  an  act  of  mercy.  Promise  me  that 
you  will  not  let  it  be  generally  known — or  anything 
about  his  misfortune  in  coming  to  an  enemy's 
house." 

The  surgeon  recalled  the  patient's  surprise  at  see- 
ing him  after  he  had  been  "announced." 

"Why  do  you  smile?"  she  asked,  trying  to  keep 
her  indignation  under. 

"I  was  thinking  how  fortunate  Captain  Williams 
is.  Of  course  I  make  only  one  report — to  the  Gen- 
eral. Not  a  word  to  anyone  else,  believe  me." 

"You  are  very  good,"  she  replied. 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  The  breakfast  certainly 
is.  It  may  be  acting  through  me  as  an  agent."  He 
smiled  apologetically  at  his  third  egg.  "You  did  ex- 
actly the  right  thing,  medicines  and  compresses  both, 
last  night,"  he  went  on,  changing  the  subject  to  a 
matter  that  excited  his  professional  admiration.  "It 
was  a  little  surprising — not  quite  expected,  I  mean, 
that  you  should  know." 

"One  has  to  know  on  a  big  plantation  like  this," 
she  responded,  "or  else  one  wouldn't  be  doing  one's 

331 


THE    VAGABOND 

duty.  I  remember  I  sat  up  all  night  with  a  slave  who 
was  ill  in  much  the  same  way.  So  I  had  a  specific 
experience — isn't  that  what  you  call  it  ?" 

He  looked  wonderingly  at  the  great  sideboard,  the 
paintings,  the  slim,  regal  figure  sitting  opposite  him 
across  the  snowy  linen,  all  standing  for  something 
with  which  he  was  familiar  only  by  reading. 

"You  sat  up  all  night  nursing  a  slave — a  nigger !" 
he  exclaimed,  in  his  honest  surprise. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  know  we  don't  do  such  things  in 
'Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,'  because  Mrs.  Stowe  was  never 
in  the  South." 

"And  you— did  you  read  'Uncle  Tom?'  " 

"Yes,  as  much  as  I  could.  Cousin  Richard  read  it 
clear  through,  smiling  all  the  time.  My  grandfather 
read  two  chapters  and  threw  it  into  the  grate.  But 
let's  not  talk  of  that.  You  feel  very  strongly  and  we 
feel  very  strongly,  and  the  talking  time,  as  Richard 
says,  is  over,  isn't  it  ?" 

As  she  diverted  the  conversation  into  other  chan- 
nels she  was  as  unexpectant  of  any  unfriendly  inter- 
ruption as  he.  More  than  once  the  difficulty  of 
Southbridge's  inevitable  appearance  had  occurred  to 
her  among  more  pressing  thoughts,  and  she  had  told 
herself  that  she  must  be  on  the  lookout  for  him  and 
find  a  way  to  keep  the  knowledge  of  the  Vagabond's 
presence  from  him.  When  she  heard  the  clank  of  his 
scabbard  on  the  hall-floor  she  knew  that  there  was  no 
way  of  escaping  a  scene,  and  she  awaited  his  entrance 
stoically.  First,  he  caught  a  glint  of  the  surgeon's 
gilt  on  a  background  as  blue  to  him  as  ever  red  was, 
red  to  a  bull,  and  his  hand  sprang  to  his  holster ;  then 
he  saw  who  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the  table — saw 

332 


THE  VAGABOND 

her  acting  the  host  to  a  Yankee,  and  a  blank  stare 
.  was  followed  by  an  explosive : 

"Sir !" 

The  surprised  surgeon  looked  from  the  big  cavalry- 
man to  his  hostess,  as  much  as  to  signify  that  she  had 
his  credentials. 

"Good-morning,  Jefferson,"  she  said,  affably,  ris- 
ing. "Let  me  introduce  Captain  Langholm,  who  is  on 
an  errand  of  mercy." 

The  surgeon  rose,  but  Southbridge  did  not  come  a 
step  nearer. 

"You  may  breakfast  in  a  patriot  house,  sir,"  he  said, 
"but  I  assure  you,  you  will  sleep  in  a  patriot  prison." 

"If  the  lodging  is  as  good  as  the  fare,  I  should  not 
mind,  except  for  your  company,"  the  surgeon  clicked 
back;  for  he  was  not  made  of  putty. 

This  was  the  match  to  the  hot-tempered  South- 
bridge.  He  drew  his  revolver,  and  so  did  the  Fed- 
eral. There  might  have  been  an  exchange  of  shots  if 
Volilla  had  not  stepped  between  them. 

"This  is  my  house,  Jefferson.  A  Virginian  is  the 
last  to  interfere  with  another's  hospitality,"  she 
said,  simply ;  and  her  remark  made  shame  muffle  his 
rage. 

Without  any  protest  except  a  dogged  shrug  of  his 
shoulders,  he  withdrew. 

Leaving  her  guest  to  care  for  still  another  egg, 
which  he  proceeded  to  do  nonchalantly — possibly  it 
was  a  relief  to  him  to  meet  the  kind  of  Confederate 
he  had  read  about — she  closed  the  door  into  the  hall 
and  was  alone  with  Southbridge.  Her  instinct  told 
her  that  the  direct  road  was  the  safest  and  best. 
Without  any  suggestion  of  a  certain  other  story,  she 

333 


THE    VAGABOND 

related  how  Langholm  happened  to  be  in  the  house, 
trusting  to  her  tact,  frail  weapon  that  she  feared  it 
was,  to  accomplish  the  rest. 

"We  have  hospitals,  we  have  surgeons,"  he  said, 
his  animus  overwhelming  him  again.  "He  was  my 
legitimate  prisoner;  I  rode  back  and  found  him 
gone." 

"Yes,  just  so.  You  fail  to  recognize  the  joke  on 
yourself.  You  deserted  him  and  now  he's  mine," 
she  said,  laughing. 

"Because  one  Yankee  forges  and  gets  another  into 
trouble,  are  we  going  to  help  the  other  out?  Be- 
cause he  is  wounded,  is  he  specially  immune  from 
the  laws  of  war  ?" 

"No,  Jefferson,  he's  on  neutral  ground.  I  am 
bound  to  be  indebted  to  no  Federal.  I  am  paying  him 
back  for  his  generosity  and  kindness  when  his  com- 
pany protected  this  house.  You  have  always  been 
welcome  here.  Your  regiment  carries  the  flag  I 
made.  Now  I'm  going  to  ask  a  favor  in  return. 
This  house  must  be  a  sanctuary  for  this  man  until 
he  is  well." 

"There  is  something  more — something  between 
you.  Your  head  has  been  turned.  You — you  are  in- 
fatuated !"  he  cried,  and  bent  over  her  almost  threat- 
eningly. 

Then  she  became  quite  confident  of  attaining  her 
object.  She  threw  back  her  head  and  took  her  time 
for  a  trilling  laugh  of  ridicule. 

"Infatuated !"  Her  tongue  played  with  the  word 
as  if  it  were  a  ball  of  variegated  colors.  "If  I  were, 
do  you  think  I'd  have  told  you  he  was  here  ?  Don't 
you  suppose  I  would  have  gone  at  once  to  the  Union 

334 


THE    VAGABOND 

lines  to  save  him?  Infatuated  with  a  California 
miner !"  Of  a  sudden  she  grew  earnest.  "Infatuated 
with  a  Yankee!  You — you  thought  that  of  me!" 
she  cried,  in  most  sincere  offence. 

In  one  of  her  moments  of  splendor  she  had  given 
him  again  a  glimpse  of  the  value  of  the  prize  he 
hoped  to  win.  He  seized  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"You  forget  that  I  live  for  you !  I  cannot  wait ! 
I  must  know !  I  formed  the  Virginia  Firsts  for  you. 
I  lead  them  for  you.  I  shall  win  victories  for  you." 

The  big  man  with  challenge  beating  out  of  his  eyes 
a  moment  before  had  become  abject.  Yet,  serious  as 
he  was,  he  could  not  help  speaking  with  an  age-gone 
grandiloquence. 

She  drew  her  hand  away. 

"Remember  your  promise !  "Not  again  till  the  war 
is  over.  Your  duty  is  not  that  of  courtier  now,  but 
soldier." 

He  stiffened  in  compliance  with  a  bargain  that  he 
had  agreed  to. 

"There  is  another  thing  that  made  me  kind  to  him 
for  your  sake,"  she  said.  "You  would  scarcely  want 
anything  but  an  open  field  against  him,  I  know." 

He  bristled  at  this  suggestion,  ingeniously  put. 

"He  seemed  to  think  it  a  personal  fight.  When 
he  was  wounded  he  said  that  he  called  'Sabre  to  sabre' 
to  you  and  you  fired  at  him  with  your  revolver." 
She  wanted  to  make  all  the  points  she  could,  in  jus- 
tification. 

"It  was  war,  not  a  duel,"  he  said.  "But  I  remem- 
ber— he  did  say  that !  If  he  makes  it  a  personal  mat- 
ter I  will  express  my  regrets.  I  want  no  odds  from 
any  Yankee!" 

335 


THE  VAGABOND 

In  the  sway  of  this  passion  he  parted  from  her. 
He  fully  intended  to  keep  to  his  word  as  he  ascended 
the  stairs.  It  was  the  Vagabond's  smile,  after  his 
surprise  had  passed,  that  deterred  him — a  smile  of 
amusement,  in  face  of  the  fact  that  he  was  probably  a 
prisoner  again,  at  the  plume  in  the  gentleman's  hat, 
his  long,  curling  mustache,  his  knotted  silk  sash,  and 
his  gala  appearance  in  general. 

"When  you  are  well!"  was  all  that  Southbridge 
could  say,  tapping  the  hilt  of  his  sabre. 

"Yes,  when  I  am  well,  with  pleasure,"  was  the 
quiet  reply,  sharper-pointed  than  the  surgeon's  knife. 


336 


XXXVII 

WHEN    THE    BACK-LOO    FELL 

The  Vagabond  had  the  fleeting,  whimsical  im- 
pression that  it  was  very  good  of  Southbridge  to  wait, 
and  then,  in  the  exhaustion  from  the  surgeon's  opera- 
tion and  in  the  sweet  consciousness  of  the  great  news 
she  had  brought,  he  slept. 

When  he  awoke  the  afternoon  was  waning.  In  the 
clearer  vision  which  his  rest  had  given  him,  he  began 
to  review  the  events  since  his  meeting  with  South- 
bridge  on  the  road.  His  sense  of  proportion  was 
drowned  in  shame,  which  began  with  the  realization 
that  his  enemy  had  overcome  him ;  which  increased  as 
his  memory  picked  up  scattered  sayings  and  doings. 
Convinced  that  he  had  talked  much  while  she  minis- 
tered to  him  overnight,  he  tried  in  vain  to  recall  more 
than  the  tenor  of  what  he  had  said. 

"I  whined,  I  explained,  I  made  excuses,"  he 
thought. 

Neither  scowling,  nor  staring  vacantly  at  the  wall, 
nor  drumming  his  fingers  would  bring  more  than  this 
concrete  example  of  his  humiliation:  that  he  had 
whimpered — to  use  his  own  word — about  South- 
bridge  taking  his  sabre,  and  she  had  appeased  the 
little  boy  by  bringing  his  plaything.  Afterward,  as 
before,  all  was  a  blank. 

"Oh,  you  baby !  you  baby !"  he  told  himself.  "You 
337 


THE  VAGABOND 

aren't  fit  to  be  out  of  skirts  yet,  and  you  presume  to 
command  a  company  of  grown  men  like  the  Vaga- 
bonds!" 

Marcus  Aurelius,  making  the  last  of  many  excur- 
sions on  tiptoe  to  see  if  the  patient  was  awake,  now 
appeared. 

"Well,  sah,"  he  said,  "yo'  eyes  is  pretty  bright 
an'  so's  yo'  prospec's  ef  yo'  keeps  yo'  sangfraw,  sah. 
Dere's  nothin'  like  sangfraw,  sah" — a  most  dubious 
suggestion  to  one  who  was  barely  out  of  danger. 

"And  cold  water,  too,  Marcus.  I  feel  too  sticky 
for  words.  A  sponge  and  a  basin,  and  the  cleaner  I 
am,  the  higher  I'll  put  you  in  the  list  of  immortals." 

With  a  positive  grace  the  old  fellow  bathed  the 
feeble  cavalier,  changed  the  sheets,  shaved  him  and 
combed  his  hair,  meanwhile  narrating  his  wonderful 
experiences  in  Paris  forty  years  ago,  much  to  the  dis- 
paragement of  all  French  valets.  Then  he  proudly 
surveyed  the  result,  who,  in  the  glow  of  his  toilet,  was 
an  optimist,  again  thinking  how  to  redeem  his  past. 

"Dere,  sah,  now  yo's  fit  to  receive  callers." 

The  Vagabond's  picture  of  himself  had  little  in 
common  with  the  one  that  Volilla  drew  upon  her  own 
awakening.  She  had  already  in  her  heart  given  up 
the  idea  that  he  was  a  play-actor,  except  of  that  mag- 
nificent kind  that  believes  in  only  one  part,  his  own. 
It  was  the  compelling  force  of  the  man,  his  tantaliz- 
ing, ubiquitous  ability  to  put  himself  in  an  heroic 
pose,  that  she  now  recognized  in  that  heart  to  heart 
communion  that  every  woman  knows  in  the  silence  of 
her  own  bedroom. 

She  had  been  indiscreet,  impulsive,  romantic,  she 
told  herself.  She  might  have  sent  Marcus  Aureliua 

338 


THE    VAGABOND 

to  the  Union  lines  in  her  stead,  and  she  might  have 
avoided  other  acts  which,  abstractly  considered,  would 
represent  more  than  a  nurse's  interest  in  a  patient. 
Even  when  she  faced  Southbridge  she  had  been  con- 
scious of  a  personal  feeling,  a  feeling  of  downright 
partisanship  for  the  wounded  man  because  of  his  dis- 
tress. He  had  won  her  admiration  by  that  display  of 
high  purpose  regardless  of  all  selfish  interests  which 
is  the  most  appealing  of  all  masculine  traits  to  the 
feminine  mind,  be  it  ever  said  to  woman's  credit. 

"What  I  did,"  to  put  her  conclusion  in  her  own 
words,  "was  out  of  a  natural  desire  to  pay  back  obli- 
gations which  he  has  wickedly  increased,  but  which 
he  shall  increase  no  further." 

She  arose  confidently;  and  confidently,  in  due 
course,  she  went  to  his  room.  By  this  time  he  also 
was  sure  of  his  part. 

"You  have  rested  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  beautifully ;  and  you  ?" 

"Slept  soundly  and  awoke  with  a  firm  purpose.  I 
must  state  it,  so  that  we  shall  start  fair."  And  with 
that  he  smiled  mischievously.  "I — am — not — go- 
ing," he  said,  slowly,  "to — propose — to  you — every 
—day!" 

Again,  with  the  unexpected,  he  had  passed  over  her 
foil  by  a  stroke  of  delicacy  which  said  that  he  realized 
her  position  and  had  determined  to  relieve  her  from 
any  anticipated  embarrassment.  Nevertheless,  as  a 
matter  of  fence,  her  two-worded  comment  was  sar- 
castic. 

"How  thoughtful !"  she  said. 

"But  I'm  going  to  propose  just  once — before  I  go 
away.  Is  that  agreed  ?"  he  asked,  lightly. 

339 


THE    VAGABOND 

She  puckered  her  brows. 

"Yes,  just  before  you  go  away — just  once." 

"Thank  you.  Kow  that's  settled,  please  tell  me 
the  one  thing  I  most  want  to  know — how  is  my 
horse  ?" 

"Very  comfortable  in  the  stable.  We  hope  to  care 
for  him  as  well  as  we  shall  for  his  owner." 

Grateful  now,  after  the  surprise  of  his  remark  had 
passed,  that  he  had  relieved  her  from  any  feeling  of 
restraint,  she  seated  herself  in  the  chair  which  she 
had  occupied  through  the  night. 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  your  guest — your  charge, 
I  mean — for  some  time  to  come,"  he  said. 

"Say  guest,  please,  especially  as  you  are  not  go* 
ing  to  propose,"  she  returned,  smilingly.  "You  are 
very  weak,  the  surgeon  says,  but  your  recovery  is  only 
a  question  of  time." 

"Yes,  that's  it;  that's  what  I'm  trying  to  realize 
— that  I  am  very  weak.  Every  now  and  then  I  make 
an  honest  effort  to  raise  my  arm  to  convince  myself 
that  I  am  not  shamming.  It  all  seems  so  uncanny 
and  preposterous  to  a  fellow  who  has  never  been  glued 
to  a  bed  before.  Yesterday  I  could  bound  into  the 
saddle  without  the  help  of  the  stirrup ;  to-day  I  would 
need  a  litter  and  the  smelling-salts  to  get  downstairs. 
It  will  teach  me  humility  and  thoughtfulness.  I 
shall  have  more  sympathy  with  the  sick  and  the  fail- 
ing hereafter." 

While  she  wished  for  the  fiftieth  time  that  he 
could  not  talk  so  well,  her  fingers,  moving  on  the  table 
aimlessly,  touched  something  small,  hard,  and  heavy. 

"That's  the  little  thing  that  the  doctor  cut  out — • 
the  one  Southbridge  gave  me,"  he  said. 

340 


THE  VAGABOND 

She  shuddered,  and  held  the  bit  of  lead  up  quiz- 
zically for  inspection. 

"I  shall  have  to  return  his  loan,"  he  added,  pleas- 
antly. 

"This  same  one,  I  hope." 

"No,  that  would  hardly  be  fair;  his  was  not  sec- 
ond-hand. No,  a  new  one!" 

The  blood  left  her  face.  She  laid  the  leaden  ser- 
pent's sting  back  on  the  table  with  trembling  fingers. 

"Please,"  she  pleaded,  making  a  dismal  effort  to 
smile,  "please  promise  me  that  you  won't  go  out  of 
your  way  to  meet  Colonel  Southbridge.  He  is  my 
friend.  He — he  has  the  secret — he  consents  to  your 
being  here.  Please  promise !" 

"She  loves  him!"  he  thought,  only  that;  it  was 
enough. 

"I'll  not — I'll  not  go  out  of  my  way,  I  promise," 
he  said,  finally.  "He  is  one  Confederate  among 
many.  It  is  unlikely  that  I  shall  ever  see  him  again." 

"Thank  you.  I — I  ask  it  because  I  know  you 
would  win.  The  way  you  looked  when  you  said  that 
made  me  realize  it,  weak  as  you  are.  You  would  win 
— you  always  win — that's  the  worst  of — of  you  1"  she 
cried. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  break  out  that  way,"  she  con- 
tinued. "I  should  have  waited  till  you  were  stronger 
before  I  asked  you  to  make  promises." 

"It  isn't  much  just  to  win.  If  it  comes  to  that,  I 
didn't  win  when  I  met  Southbridge  on  the  road.  I 
have  not  yet — the  great  fancy  of  my  life,  you  know" 
• — but  he  checked  himself. 

And  he  was  as  good  as  his  word  about  proposing 
341 


THE   VAGABOND 

and  better,  for  he  never  mentioned  that  there  had 
been  a  story  or  even  the  sketch-book  he  had  shown 
her  when  he  told  it.  His  gratitude  was  expressed  in 
his  quaint  conceits  and  exuberant  fancy,  in  pencil- 
drawings  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  Josephus,  and  other 
notables,  making  a  merry  convalescence  for  himself 
and  good  company  for  his  hosts.  Mrs.  Bulwer,  who 
had  thrown  up  her  hands  in  matronly  horror  on  learn- 
ing of  the  situation,  and  who  had  at  first  regarded  the 
patient  with  distant  censoriousness,  ended  by  won- 
dering how  he  could  have  been  born  north  of  Mason 
and  Dixon's  line.  His  manners,  which  she  expected 
to  find  barbarous,  she  explained  by  a  gentle  line  of 
ancestors  whose  fortunes  had  dwindled,  leaving  the 
present  generation  to  make  his  own  way  in  the 
world. 

Mrs.  Bulwer  read  to  him,  and  both  nodded  in  the 
process.  Volilla  also  read  to  him;  and  listening 
to  her  rich  voice,  which  gave  to  r's  slow  and  glow- 
ing recognition,  and  watching  the  unconscious  play 
of  her  expression,  he  was  as  wide-awake  as  happiness 
can  make  a  man.  To  have  pressed  his  suit,  besides 
being  ungracious,  which  was  his  first  thought,  would 
have  deprived  him  of  association  with  her  natural 
self  in  the  routine  of  her  duties  as  mistress  of  an  es- 
tate. It  was  she,  because  she  had  the  talent,  rather 
than  her  aunt,  who  was  always  doing  little  things  to 
please  him ;  she  who  showed  the  most  intelligent  in- 
terest in  his  stories  of  the  trail,  which  he  told  dryly ; 
she  who  had  Breaker  brought  into  the  yard  the  first 
time  his  owner  was  well  enough  to  be  carried  to  a 
chair  by  the  window.  The  bay's  coat  shone  over 
plump  sides  and  solid  quarters. 

342 


THE  VAGABOND 

"I  won't  fall  off  again,  old  fellow !"  the  Vagabond 
called.  "You  see,"  turning  to  Mrs.  Bulwer,  "he's 
one  of  several  who  have  saved  my  life.  I  thank  you 
for  being  as  kind  to  him  as  you  are  to  me." 

"Now,  I've  always  said  that  a  man  who  loved  a 
horse  and  whose  horse  loved  him  could  not  be  so  very 
bad,"  she  told  him. 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Bulwer,"  he  replied,  with  mock 
solemnity. 

"Of  course,  they  can  be  bad  if  they  try — by  invad- 
ing a  sovereign  State,"  she  rejoined,  with  a  reproving 
shake  of  her  finger. 

He  received  her  little  reproofs  pleasantly  or  met 
them  with  banter,  or,  sometimes,  when  she  tried  to 
bring  him  to  her  view  of  the  war,  with  the  logic  of 
his  simple  experience.  Between  him  and  Volilla, 
however,  no  argument  was  ever  passed  on  this  sub- 
ject. Both  shunned  it  instinctively.  Only  once  was 
it  mentioned,  even  indirectly,  and  then  absent-mind- 
edly, when  her  needle  was  slipping  in  and  out  of 
another  Confederate  banner. 

"You  make  the  stars  so  well,"  he  said,  "that  there 
ought  to  be  more." 

"The  flag  is  not  for  your  side,  sir;  it  is  for  the 
fearless  minority." 

There  was  in  her  every  act  kindness  and  delicate 
hospitality,  which  he  had  made  easy  for  her  in  one 
sense,  which  he  had  made  hard  for  her  in  another,  in 
that  he  had  the  faculty  of  doing  the  right  thing  when 
it  would  have  served  her  sense  of  partisanship  better 
if  he  had  done  the  wrong  one. 

As  soon  as  he  could  make  his  way  downstairs  with- 
out help  (the  ladies  watching  and  Marcus  Aurelius, 

343 


THE    VAGABOND 

most  pessimistic,  at  his  elbow),  he  joined  them  at 
dinner,  x  In  honor  of  the  event  the  kitchen  became 
an  African  tyrant's  stronghold,  and  the  silver,  some 
of  which  the  Vagabond  had  taken  from  Aikens's  pock- 
ets, adorned  the  table  and  the  sideboard.  For  all 
the  talk  of  that  meal  or  of  any  other  that  followed, 
no  stranger  would  have  known  but  he  was  a  welcome 
neighbor  or  a  relative.  With  the  feeling  of  one  who 
is  strongly  held  and  strongly  called,  he  looked  for- 
ward to  the  time  of  his  going.  His  desire  to  be  with 
his  men  again  was  balanced  by  the  fear  of  putting  a 
dream  to  the  alternative  of  coming  true  or  of  being 
shattered. 

Finally,  he  set  a  Monday  for  his  departure.  Mrs. 
Bulwer  said  that  he  must  not  think  of  such  a  thing ; 
Volilla  counselled  wisdom,  and  Marcus  Aurelius 
cited  a  number  of  relapses,  not  to  say  deaths,  as  the 
result  of  over-confidence,  which  were,  doubtless,  the 
fruit  of  his  resplendent  tropical  imagination.  So 
they  compromised  on  Wednesday,  which  came  all  too 
quickly.  At  times,  he  had  read  a  line  which  he 
thought  was  hopeful ;  again,  she  was  a  sealed  book  to 
him.  Could  she  have  done  so  much  for  him  merely 
in  the  name  of  courtesy  and  obligation  ?  Alas,  that 
was  the  fine  thing  about  her ;  she  could. 

He  thought  that  he  would  like  to  exercise  the  priv- 
ilege which  he  had  reserved  for  himself  under  the 
same  circumstances  that  had  favored  the  telling  of 
his  story.  She  was  never  so  charming  to  him  as  when 
on  horseback ;  words  had  never  sprung  so  easily  to  his 
lips  as  when  they  bent  their  heads  over  the  sketch- 
book in  the  sheltered  lane. 

"I  ought  to  have  a  little  practice  for  my  journey," 
344 


THE  VAGABOND 

he  said  at  the  breakfast-table  Tuesday.  "May  I  join 
you  for  your  ride  to-day  2" 

"The  doctor  couldn't  think  of  allowing  such  a 
thing!"  she  declared,  promptly.  "I'm  surprised  at 
you,  indeed,  Captain — you  a  cavalry-man!  Why, 
you  would  be  so  lame  that  it  would  be  torture  to 
mount  to-morrow.  No,  no,"  playfully,  "I'm  respon- 
sible for  your  care,  and  I  sha'n't  let  you  have  Breaker 
to-day." 

There  was  no  going  back  of  her  reply,  though  he 
could  tell  by  the  flicker  of  a  glance  that  she  gave  him 
what  its  real  object  was. 

Neither  in  the  morning  nor  in  the  afternoon  did 
she  permit  herself  to  be  alone  with  him.  At  dinner 
the  talk  ran  on  California,  the  safest  of  subjects.  Her 
sense  of  hospitality  and  her  interest  in  the  guest,  of 
whom  she  had  grown  exceedingly  fond,  kept  Mrs. 
Bulwer  in  the  drawing-room  till  eleven. 

"I'll  sit  here  for  a  time,  if  you  don't  mind.  I  like 
the  fire,"  he  said. 

The  evenings  were  becoming  chill,  and  the  logs  had 
been  lighted  after  sundown. 

"You  mustn't  stay  up  too  late.  You'll  need  all 
your  strength  for  to-morrow.  Good-night,"  Volilla 
said,  leaving  the  room  at  the  same  time  as  her  aunt. 

He  sat  watching  the  blaze,  his  legs  extended,  and 
knocking  one  foot  against  the  other  nervously. 

"She  doesn't  mean  that  I  shall  speak  at  all,"  he 
told  himself.  "Her  conduct  while  I've  been  here  is 
her  answer,  and  she  expects  me  to  understand.  To- 
morrow the  sand  will  be  put  back  in  the  hour-glass 
and  be  sent  through  the  daily  routine." 

The  door  was  opened  softly,  and  he  sprang  up,  to 
345 


THE  VAGABOND 

see  her  advancing  into  the  room.  She  was  never  more 
exasperatingly  beautiful,  he  thought.  The  fire-light 
played  on  her  hair  in  quivering  gleams;  the  mole 
dipped  into  the  dimple  in  a  faint  smile  of  polite  de- 
termination. Her  pose  as  she  stopped  before  him  was 
that  of  one  forearmed  for  a  set  conflict.  She  had 
promised  to  let  him  propose :  now  was  his  time,  her 
manner  plainly  said.  He  met  her  perversity  with  the 
same  serene  cheeriness  of  demeanor  as  on  the  morn- 
ing he  joined  her  on  the  drive.  Bowing,  he  placed 
a  chair  before  the  grate.  She  hesitated,  then  seated 
herself.  Still  he  was  silent,  leaving  her  to  speak 
first. 

"The  back-log  is  going  to  fall  soon,  and  I  came  back 
to  see  it,"  she  said,  finally,  with  some  embarrassment. 

"I  saw  your  face  in  the  flame  plainly  before  you 
came  in,"  he  remarked,  abstractedly.  "It  was  not, 
then  vexed.  It  was  radiant,  as  it  has  been  in  every 
camp-fire  flame  for  twelve  years.  When  you  think  of 
what  might  be,  why  not  think  of  the  best  that  might 
be  ?  And  always  I  have  wondered  if  we  should  ever 
truly  sit  looking  into  the  same  fire  and  reality  should 
have  taken  the  place  of  fancy " 

"I  did  not  agree  that  you  should  tell  the  story 
again !"  she  put  in. 

"I  was  not  telling  it.  I  need  not  to  tell  it."  Now 
he  turned,  and,  looking  into  her  eyes,  spoke  in  tense, 
quivering  sincerity:  "You  know  it!  My  every 
glance,  my  every  act  has  told  you.  Take  all  the  hap- 
piness and  all  the  ambition  in  the  world  and  make  it 
into  a  world  by  itself  and  it  is  my  love  for  you." 

For  an  instant  her  gaze  had  met  his ;  then  she  rose. 

"It  is  impossible,"  she  said.  "Good-night !"  Part 
346 


THE  VAGABOND 

way  across  the  room  she  turned  and  added  desper- 
ately: "Besides,  I  don't  love  you — I  don't  love  you!" 

"Tell  me  this !  Tell  me  you  believe  that  story — 
you  believe  that  I  have  been  honest — honest!" 

"I  do.  And  I — I  have  tried  to  be  kind  and  chiv- 
alrous— only  that — only  that !" 

And  she  was  gone,  and  he  was  standing  alone  in 
the  great  room  of  a  hostile  house,  he  realized,  when 
the  back-log  fell,  with  a  volley  of  sparks. 


347 


XXXVIII 

SABEE      TO      SABRE 

At  breakfast  both  were  in  command  of  that  half- 
bantering  good-humor  which  was  their  most  feasible 
common  ground.  When  the  moment  of  parting  was 
at  hand,  the  heartfelt  flow  of  his  gratitude  to  his  hosts 
was  unrestrained  by  formality. 

"You  saved  my  life!  You  have  cared  for  me  as 
only  such  as  you  could  care  for  a  sick  man.  Had  I 
been  a  Confederate  and  a  relative  you  could  not  have 
done  more.  For  haven't  you  avoided  every  opin- 
ion that  might  have  offended  me?  Haven't  you 
shown  how  far  above  war  and  politics  a  woman's 
kindness  is  ?  I  can't  repay  you,  except  by  doing  as 
much  for  you  and  yours.  But  you  must  know  that  I 
am  a  better  and  a  broader  man,  and  that  to  you  is,  I 
know,  the  greatest  of  rewards." 

"The  very  greatest,"  said  Mrs.  Bulwer.  "Be 
careful,  won't  you,  there's  a  dear.  Bichard  and  you 
and  so  many — "  Her  voice  faltered,  as  thousands 
of  mothers'  voices  did  in  those  days.  "The  strongest 
and  bravest,  whether  it's  to  be  one  nation  or  two — 
we  need  them !" 

On  her  part,  Volilla — the  last  touch  of  her  delicate 
thoughtfulness — told  him  that  she  had  had  a  groom 
take  the  kinks  out  of  Breaker's  legs  in  a  preliminary 

348 


THE    VAGABOND 

canter,  lest  his  pace  be  too  spirited  for  a  convales- 
cent. 

"If,  when  the  war  is  over,  you  should  ever  come 
this  way  again,"  Mrs.  Bulwer  added,  as  he  mounted, 
"Richard  as  well  as  myself  would  be  glad  to  see  you 
at  our  home." 

When  he  had  spoken  his  thanks  for  this  gracious- 
ness  to  a  stranger  whose  introduction  had  been 
scarcely  regular,  he  glanced  at  Volilla.  Would  she, 
too,  ask  him  to  come  again  as  a  friend  ? 

"It's  so  fortunate!  You're  going  to  have  perfect 
autumn  weather,"  she  said,  hastily.  "Good-by,  Mr. 
Williams !" 

"Good-by,  Miss  Lanley.  God  bless  you  for  your 
kindness !" 

He  did  not  look  back  after  he  had  spoken ;  and,  pat- 
ting his  horse's  neck  to  keep  him  down  to  a  walk,  he 
rode  away. 

"Back  to  the  hour-glass,  Breaker !"  he  was  think- 
ing, as  he  turned  into  the  road.  "We'll  see  the  war 
through  if  it  takes  twenty  years.  And  then  break 
the  glass  let  the  wind  carry  the  sand  whither  it 
will.  Father  Bob  won't  be  on  the  trail,  and  there'll 
be  nobody  to  give  the  gold  to.  I  did  climb  the  moun- 
tain; I  did  find  the  mine,  and  Tim  and  Jimmy 
can  have  it.  I'll  find  another.  I'll  keep  moving; 
that's  the  only  thing.  Pooh!  We  aren't  babies, 
are  we,  Breaker?  There'll  be  plenty  of  fighting, 
good  fighting,  to  drive  a  man's  heart  back  to  its  place 
when  it  seems  to  choke  his  throat.  And  we'll  keep 
our  promise,  Breaker,  about  Southbridge.  But  we 
won't  run  away  from  the  plume  and  the  sash,  and 
we  won't  be  murderers,  either." 

349 


THE    VAGABOND 

At  that  moment  Southbridge  was  waiting  under 
the  cover  of  a  tree,  where  he  had  been  curbing  his 
impatience  since  dawn.  No  man  had  ever  been  more 
restless  for  a  fair  field  which  would  relieve  him  of 
self-imposed  aspersion.  The  "when  you  are  well" 
which  he  had  spoken  in  the  sick-room  he  had  meant 
to  convey  as  definite  an  impression  as  pistols  and  coffee 
for  two ;  in  fine,  that  the  Vagabond  should  not  return 
to  the  Union  lines  without  giving  him  satisfaction. 
While  the  Lanley  house  sheltered  the  enemy  he  would 
never  enter  it ;  but  this  did  not  keep  him  from  being 
informed  through  a  servant's  frequent  journeyings 
of  the  time  of  the  guest's  departure.  So  it  happened 
that  he  reined  his  horse  fairly  across  the  Vagabond's 
path  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  Lanley  gate. 

"I  thought  so,"  he  said. 

"You  thought  what  ?"  the  Vagabond  asked,  in  sur- 
prise. 

Southbridge  had  changed  his  position  so  that  the 
two  rigid  figures  were  facing  each  other  over  their 
horses'  ears  and  neither  had  the  advantage  of  the  other 
in  ground,  position,  or  composure. 

"Oh,  I'll  be  exact,"  he  said,  contemptuously.  "You 
shall  have  no  complaint  on  that  score.  I  thought  that 
I  should  have  to  come  after  you  if  I  wanted  you  to 
keep  your  word." 

"I  did  not  say  that  I  would  seek  you.  I  am  not 
seeking  you  now,"  was  the  Vagabond's  reply. 

"No-o?"  Southbridge  hung  on  to  the  rising  inflec- 
tion grimly.  "No,  I  judge  not.  But  you  have  not 
forgotten  my  last  words.  Are  you  well?" 

"Yes." 

"Well  enough  to  fight?" 
350 


THE   VAGABOND 

"Yes;  if  I  have  a  cause." 

And  then  Southbridge  in  a  word  supplied  one 
which  no  soldier  could  resist. 

It  was  not  necessary  for  the  Vagabond  to  exert 
himself  to  be  calm,  as  he  had  feared  he  must  when  he 
and  the  flowery  cavalier  should  meet.  He  had,  as  yet, 
for  one  thing,  a  trace  of  the  languor  of  a  convalescent. 
Tragic  as  the  situation  was,  he  found  humor  in  it, 
and  he  had  no  great  object  to  hold  him  to  life  just 
then  except  the  Vagabonds,  which  Jimmy  and  Tim 
could  lead  as  well  as  he.  He  was  subdued  by  the  con- 
trast, so  in  keeping  with  the  satire  of  the  time,  be- 
tween the  gentle  domesticity  he  had  left  and  the  male 
savagery  he  had  encountered  The  spectacle  of  two 
men  slashing  each  other  with  no  end  but  the  gratifica- 
tion of  personal  enmity  appealed  to  the  sense  of  the 
ridiculous,  which  is  always  cooling.  Having  often 
longed  half-whimsically  to  have  Southbridge  on  the 
edge  of  a  precipice,  with  room  for  only  one,  his  desire 
was  granted.  It  was  as  unnatural  for  the  maspuline 
being  to  fly  in  the  face  of  such  a  challenge  as  for  a 
woman  to  desert  her  child.  Yes,  death  he  little 
minded ;  the  humiliation  of  being  outplayed  by  this 
man  he  did  mind  tremendously. 

"Your  weapons — pistols  at  ten  paces  or  sabres  at 
one?"  Southbridge  demanded. 

"As  we  are — as  cavalry-men  should." 

"Good!  Here's  the  place!  Here  and  now!"  He 
nodded  over  his  shoulder  to  a  vacant  field. 

"ShaVt  we  be  seen  from  the  house?"  the  Vag- 
abond suggested. 

"You  chose  the  weapons.     I  choose  the  ground." 

The  spectacular  in  Southbridge's  nature  hoped  for 
351 


THE    VAGABOND 

nothing  so  much,  as  that  his  lady  from  her  balcony 
should  behold — behold  is  the  fit  word — her  champion 
in  the  lists  beat  down  his  adversary. 

"As  you  will  1" 

For  the  first  time  the  Vagabond's  face,  which  had 
been  inscrutable  in  its  calm,  broke  into  an  unconscious 
smile — such  a  smile  as  when  he  had  his  first  glimpse 
of  the  Cavalier  on  the  Lanley  porch. 

It  was  the  spark  to  Southbridge's  temper.  He 
cried  an  oath  and  rode  on  ahead  to  the  other  side  of  a 
level  as  big  as  a  base-ball  field ;  while  the  Vagabond, 
his  scheme  of  offence  and  defence  very  clear  to  him 
now,  rode  to  the  middle  of  it.  He  laughed  softly,  as 
his  adversary  turned  and  faced  him,  at  the  picture 
they  would  make  for  a  cartoonist's  pencil. 

The  two  men  on  the  verge  of  a  combat  for  which 
every  cavalry-man  is  trained  and  which  seldom  oc- 
curs— but  when  it  does  is  to  a  charge  what  the  turret 
is  to  architecture — barring  a  common  chivalrous 
quality,  were  as  different  as  nature  could  make 
them.  Southbridge  was  over  six  feet  in  height 
He  was  in  his  full  array  of  knotted  silk  sash,  Span- 
ish spurs,  tasselled  boots,  and  plumed  hat.  His  horse, 
a  hundred  pounds  or  more  lighter  than  his  oppo- 
nent's, was  pure  white — the  only  one  in  the  Virginia 
Firsts.  "Then  my  men  will  know  where  I  am  and 
so  will  the  enemy,  please  God,"  its  owner  said. 

The  Vagabond  was  the  thicker  set.  At  an  angle 
on  his  reddish  hair  sat  lightly  the  jaunty  fatigue-cap 
of  the  day,  and  otherwise  his  uniform  was  unorna- 
mental  and  regulation.  Of  the  two,  for  the  size  of 
his  frame  he  had  much  more  closely  knitted  mus- 
cles before  illness  had  softened  them ;  and,  again,  his 

352 


THE    VAGABOM) 

bones  would  not  so  much,  hamper  mobility.  In  every 
other  respect,  including  his  horse,  when  agility  alone 
was  demanded  in  a  mount,  he  was  at  a  disadvantage. 
He  had  not  been  drilled  in  the  cavalry  exercises  at 
West  Point.  The  little  sabre  practice  that  he  knew 
had  been  gained  in  four  months'  training.  Yet,  as 
he  sat  on  Breaker  in  the  middle  of  that  field,  he  felt 
like  granite. 

"The  other  side !  That's  your  privilege.  As  much 
start  as  you  please,"  Southbridge  called. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  I  am  content." 

The  even  tones  added  fuel  to  the  flame  of  South- 
bridge's  anger. 

"Are  you  ready  ?"  he  sang  out,  fiercely. 

"Yes,  even  waiting." 

The  Confederate's  sabre  was  drawn  from  its  scab- 
bard in  a  flash;  it  was  circled  around  his  head  in 
exultation  as  his  horse  sprang  forward.  He  counted 
upon  a  slashing  blow,  reinforced  by  the  momentum 
of  his  flight,  to  end  the  fray.  The  other  had  patted 
Breaker's  flank  in  a  way  that  Breaker  understood,  and 
steed  and  man  seemed  a  part  of  the  landscape.  An 
onlooker  might  have  thought  them  stricken  with 
paralysis  by  the  fear  of  their  adversary  and  hopelessly 
awaiting  Nemesis  to  overtake  them,  or  nothing  more 
than  a  dummy  that  a  mad  trooper  had  set  up  for  a 
target. 

The  Vagabond  had  unsheathed  his  sabre,  but  he 
cut  no  dashes  with  it.  He  held  it  firmly,  almost  on 
a  level  with  Breaker's  ears,  and  while  Southbridge's 
lips  were  parted  and  his  eyes  glazed  by  feverish  pre- 
occupation, his  own  were  calmly  smiling.  Human 
nature  not  beside  itself,  not  trained,  would  have 

353 


THE  VAGABOND 

swung  back  to  let  that  wild  animal  and  wild  man 
pass,  out  of  the  sheer  instinct  that  makes  a  baby 
blink.  When  the  enemy  was  near,  so  near  that  he  had 
already  risen  in  his  stirrups  to  strike,  the  Vagabond 
leaned  over  to  the  side  by  which  he  was  to  pass  and 
shot  his  sabre  fairly  toward  the  forehead  of  the 
flying  horse.  The  horse  reared  to  escape  the  glint 
of  steel,  thereby  putting  the  target  beyond  his  rider's 
range  and  making  his  rider's  blow  an  inconsequent 
hissing  through  the  air. 

As  Southbridge  came  to  a  stand-still  thirty  or  forty 
yards  away  and  turned  around,  the  Vagabond  was 
again  facing  him. 

"You  ride  well!"  the  Yankee  called,  now  feeling 
somewhat  weak. 

"I  thought  you  wanted  to  fight!"  was  the  answer. 

His  restless  horse  prancing,  he  began  moving  in 
a  circle,  with  the  Vagabond  for  its  centre. 

"Not  at  all,"  the  Vagabond  said,  cheerfully.  "Not 
I,  but  you.  I  only  want  to  be  accommodating." 

That  was  too  much.  Southbridge  drove  his  spurs 
into  flanks  already  bleeding.  This  time  his  sabre  was 
not  uplifted.  It  was  drawn  back  ready  to  thrust 
into  any  opening  that  offered.  The  Vagabond 
now  sat  erect  in  guard.  With  the  thunderous  ap- 
proach of  his  enemy  Breaker  swerved  a  little,  else 
gray  knee  would  have  locked  with  blue  knee.  South- 
bridge,  so  recklessly  contemptuous  of  any  skill  on 
the  part  ef  his  adversary  that  he  had  not  his  wrist 
through  the  cord,  lunged,  and  the  Vagabond,  with  a 
swing  upward,  struck  the  weapon  near  the  hilt  and 
sent  it  flying  into  the  air. 

It  caught  the  sun  in  shivering  gleams,  and  seemed 
354 


THE    VAGABOND 

certain  to  fall  near  enough  for  him  to  reach  it  first— 
and  then,  with  the  dexterity  and  quickness  of  a  hand- 
ball player,  Southbridge  caught  it  by  the  hilt  as  it 
fell.  The  Vagabond  could  not  withhold  his  admira- 
tion. 

"Bravo!"  he  called. 

/  The  humiliation  of  being  disarmed  by  a  tyro  was 
spur  enough,  without  the  thought  that  Volilla  might 
have  seen  all  from  her  window,  to  drive  Southbridge 
to  desperation.  He  craved  the  blood  of  that  figure 
which  now  touched  its  cap  in  polite  salute,  and  he 
determined  to  charge  and  recharge  till  the  suspense 
was  over. 

Breaker  had  been  extremely  patient  for  a  veteran. 
He  did  not  reason  elaborately,  as  the  talking  horses 
of  fiction  do.  Aside  from  any  effort  between  his 
rider  and  the  other  man,  the  fight  had  now  become 
personal  with  him.  That  namby-pamby  white  horse, 
with  his  long  mane  and  tail  and  airs  to  go  with  them, 
had  snorted  by  him  once,  and  a  second  time  had 
kicked  dust  in  his  eyes.  An  ancestry  which  roamed 
the  earth  in  hordes  and  fought  for  chiefship  of  the 
drove  would  not  permit  him  to  stand  by  for  a  third  in- 
sult. His  curving  neck  and  pounding  forefoot  ex- 
pressed as  much  to  his  master,  who  let  him  go; 
and  when  once  more  the  combatants  could  see  the 
whites  of  each  other's  eyes,  the  two-footed  gave  the 
four-footed  comrade  a  signal  that  meant  "Close  in." 

Now  the  bay's  superior  weight  and  his  reserve 
energy  counted.  The  horses'  shoulders  came  to- 
gether at  the  same  instant  that  steel  ground  on  steel, 
till  hilt  met  hilt,  and,  with  the  impetus  of  Breaker's 
attack,  men  and  beasts  went  down  to  the  dry  turf 

355 


THE  VAGABOND 

together.  In  that  interval,  when  two  determined, 
straining  faces  were  close  to  each  other,  the  Vaga- 
bond dropped  his  own  weapon,  seized  Southbridge' s 
sabre  wrist,  weakened  the  grasp,  and,  falling  atop  his 
combatant,  was  the  first  to  rise,  with  the  captured 
blade  in  his  hand. 

"Is  that  fair?     If  not,  we  can  begin  over  again." 

"It  is,"  said  Southbridge,  rising  as  if  his  body  was 
weighted  with  a  heart  of  lead. 

The  Vagabond  picked  up  his  plumed  hat  and 
handed  it  to  him.  Southbridge  flung  it  onto  his  head. 

"It  is!"  he  repeated,  "for  we  fought  as  cavalry 
do."  He  paused,  while  he  regarded  his  enemy 
stoically.  "You  are  a  clever  soldier!"  he  said,  slowly, 
admiringly,  bitterly. 

The  Vagabond  offered  his  hand.  Southbridge  re- 
fused it  with  a  glare,  and  remounting  rode  away,  not 
by  the  road  but  by  a  lane  running  far  to  the  rear  of 
the  house. 

"Now  I  am  back  in  the  nineteenth  century  again," 
the  victor  thought.  "But  you  weren't  a  remnant. 
You  were  a  magnificent  specimen." 

He  watched  the  stalwart  figure  of  his  enemy  until 
it  disappeared  from  view.  Then  he  suddenly  felt 
himself  so  weak  that  he  had  to  lean  on  the  shoulder 
of  Breaker,  which  he  patted  lovingly,  for  support. 
All  his  strength  had  gone  into  the  strain  of  smiling 
in  the  fight  for  life.  While  he  rested  thus,  weak 
enough  to  have  been  overcome  by  a  boy  in  knicker- 
bockers, he  heard  a  footstep,  and  looked  up  to  see 
Volilla  at  his  side  with  a  flask  in  her  hand. 

"You  must  need  a  little  brandy  after  such  an  ef- 
fort." 

856 


THE  VAGABOND 

"Did  you  see  it — the  fight  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  as  disinterestedly  as  ever  in  her 
kindness,  unscrewing  the  top  of  the  flask  and  hand- 
ing it  to  him. 

He  tilted  and  tilted  it  till  he  felt  the  few  remain- 
ing drops  on  his  tongue. 

"Oh,  it  was  nearly  empty,  wasn't  it!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "I  seized  it  in  a  hurry,  not  thinking.  If 
you'll  wait  I'll  bring  some  more.  Besides,  it  was 
unpardonably  thoughtless  of  us  to  let  you  go  away 
with  an  empty  canteen."  She  unfastened  it  from 
the  rings  on  his  saddle-tree  without  asking  his  yes  or 
no.  "I'll  fill  it,"  and  she  was  starting  back. 

"It  is  unnecessary,  believe  me !  I  can  dip  it  in  the 
first  stream." 

"And  get  the  fever!  You'll  wait  for  it,  won't 
you?"  she  asked;  and  because  that  mole  was  dipping 
into  the  dimple  as  she  asked,  he  perforce  consented — 
like  the  fool  he  was,  he  told  himself — to  further 
torture. 

"Thank  you!"  she  said.  "One  of  our  officers 
fought  you  when  you  were  ill,  and  it's  only  fair  that 
someone  should  recognize  the  fact." 

He  wished  heartily  that  she  had  not  come  to  pay 
another  of  her  self-imposed  obligations.  Her  kind- 
ness had  become  a  two-edged  sword.  He  wanted  no 
more  stoical  leave-takings,  he  thought,  as  he  dropped 
to  the  turf  and  began  paying  compliments  to  the  tri- 
umphant Breaker,  who  still  faced  in  the  direction  by 
which  that  namby-pamby  white  horse  had  left  the 
field. 

When  she  returned  she  was  on  Polly's  back.  Her 
hand  trembled  as  she  passed  him  the  canteen.  He 

357 


THE   VAGABOND 

fastened  it  on  the  saddle  and  mounted.  Then,  turn- 
ing toward  her  and  lifting  his  cap  for  farewell — a 
farewell  in  terrible  earnest — he  saw  on  her  face  that 
far-away  expression  of  the  day  of  her  grandfather's 
death. 

"I'll  ride  with  you  a  little  way,"  she  said,  in  a 
kind  of  indecision,  "to  make  sure  that  you  get  on 
safely." 

"I  had  not  expected  so  much,"  he  said,  not  very 
pleasantly.  "You  are  a  most  devoted  nurse." 

She  rode  on  beside  him  in  silence  long  after  they 
had  reached  the  road. 

"I'm  sorry  that — difference  took  place  at  your  very 
door,"  he  observed,  finally.  "But  we  men  are  im- 
pulsive brutes." 

To  this  she  said  nothing  for  some  time,  and  then 
her  remark,  made  angrily,  did  not  seem  in  reference 
to  his,  but  rather  a  part  of  a  tempestuous  train  of 
thought. 

"I  could  not  prevent  it.  Fight  you  would.  Fight 
you  did.  I  knew  you  would  make  him  blind  with 
rage.  Oh,  if  I'd  been  a  man !  If  I  had  been  against 
you  I  would  have  smiled  back  at  you  and  met 
your  cold  blood  with  blood  as  cold  and  steel  as 
cold!" 

So  Southbridge's  humiliation  was  hers,  he  thought ; 
and  he  said,  looking  straight  ahead: 

"He  was  uninjured.     I  kept  my  promise." 

Again  there  was  silence,  except  for  gusts  of  wind 
twittering  in  the  tree-tops  and  the  measured  cluck  of 
their  horses'  hoofs  in  the  dust.  Heavy  minute  on 
heavy  minute  they  rode,  while  he,  glancing  now  and 
then  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye  at  her,  saw  her  beauti- 

?,5S 


fill  in  the  outraged  pride  of  her  cause  and  never  once 
lifting  her  far-away  gaze  from  the  road. 

"Yes.  You  took  his  sabre  away — you,  a  sick 
Yankee — as  if  it  were  a  boy's,  made  of  tin — took  it 
away  from  a  colonel  of  Virginia  cavalry !"  she  said, 
slowly,  as  much  to  herself  as  to  him.  "And  he  fought 
you  when  you  were  ill !" 

"No.  He  asked  me  if  I  were  well  enough.  I  said 
that  I  was.  The  outcome  is  no  great  discredit  to  him 
and  certainly  no  credit  to  me,"  he  replied,  desperately. 
"I  never  did  care  for  tricking  policemen  except  as  a 
means  of  escape.  I  wanted  a  mine,  a  mountain, 
and  a " 

"Don't!"  she  interposed,  sharply.  "You  make 
light  of  your  victory  over  a  West  Pointer,  a  Virgin- 
ian, a  colonel  of  cavalry,  as  if  you  did  such  things 
every  day." 

"No ;  to  show  how  little  it  counts.  He  may  be  a 
much  better  soldier  than  I.  The  war  is  not  settled  in 
personal  contests." 

"But  you  won — you  won!"  she  repeated.  "You 
always  win — that's  what  is  horrible  in  you." 

"Not  always — not  in  the  greatest  thing  of  all !  Oh, 
I  wish  you  would  go!"  he  exclaimed,  almost  ve- 
hemently. "Can't  you  see  that  you  are  breaking  my 
heart?" 

She  made  no  reply.  She  did  not  even  look  up. 
They  kept  on  a  quarter  of  a  mile  farther,  while  she 
worked  the  reins  in  her  fingers  nervously,  her  lip 
quivering.  Finally,  she  allowed  her  horse  to  fall 
behind  and  to  stop  altogether,  as  he  did  his  a  few 
paces  beyond  her.  And  she  was  smiling,  he  saw,  as 
pnly  she  could  smile;  and  the  sunlight  itself,  playing 

359 


THE   VAGABOND 

on  Her  adorable  hair,  seemed  to  have  caught  her 
change  of  mood. 

"I  don't  want  to  break  your  heart,  and  I  don't 
•want  you  to  win,"  she  said,  and  touched  the  whip  to 
Polly. 

He  watched  her  till  she  was  out  of  sight  around  a 
bend,  then  said: 

"It's  a  lonely  road,  now.    Come,  Breaker!" 


860 


XXXIX 

tTNCEBTAINTY 

His  life  had  been  one  of  Yes  and  !N"o,  his  asso- 
ciates rugged,  outspoken  men.  Feminine  subtlety 
was  a  domain  which  he  had  explored  only  enough  to 
prepare  him  for  new  wonders.  While  Breaker  car- 
ried him  slowly,  his  brain  travelled  swiftly  in  new 
fields.  Recollection  of  Felicia's  contemptuous  scorn 
on  the  battle-field  in  contrast  with  her  charming  sur- 
render at  a  cot-side  became  illuminating.  With  the 
transformation  of  one  who  sees  theory  proved  in 
practice,  he  understood  how  a  woman  could  refuse, 
expecting  refusal  to  be  taken  for  consent.  Weak  to 
the  point  of  lightheadedness  from  the  reaction  of  his 
effort  against  Southbridge,  he  was  in  a  state  to  make 
a  conjecture  an  illusion.  The  vehement  "I  don't  love 
you,"  of  the  previous  night,  became  "I  do."  Her 
coming  to  him  after  the  fight,  her  ride  at  his  side, 
were  no  longer  inexplicable.  Her  smile,  the  cheer 
of  her  voice  at  their  parting,  bore  to  the  faint  Vaga- 
bond an  unmistakable  message.  In  action  she  had 
confessed  superbly  what  her  tongue  could  not. 

With  this  transformation,  the  dust-covered  stalks 
of  the  dying  weeds  by  the  roadside  became  as  beau- 
tiful as  orchids.  His  reins  hung  limp ;  his  eyes  were 
almost  closed,  and  his  lips  were  parted  in  the  deli- 

361 


THE  VAGABOND 

cious  fever  of  love's  triumph.  Of  what  moment  was 
it  to  him  that  there  was  an  army  to  the  North  and 
an  army  to  the  South  ?  Of  what  moment  were  taps 
and  reveille?  Why  shouldn't  he  journey  leisurely 
when  ahead  he  saw  neither  fences  nor  trees  nor  sky, 
but  his  heart's  desire,  smiling  as  she  was  in  his  last 
glimpse  of  her — smiling  in  a  woman's  consent,  he  be- 
lieved. He  heard  the  purling  of  a  mountain-stream ; 
the  hum  of  his  machinery  taking  out  the  wealth  of 
the  mine  that  he  had  found  for  her ;  and  he  trans- 
ferred his  vision  to  a  California  landscape;  he  set 
her  in  a  house  of  his  building,  and  rode  in  her  com- 
pany over  their  lands,  with  Folly's  ears  in  line  with 
Breaker's. 

"I'll  make  myself  worthy!  I'll  make  myself 
worthy,  Breaker !"  he  said. 

All  too  soon  he  heard  the  call  of  a  picket,  which 
made  him  drop  his  revery  as  if  the  man  in  blue  were 
an  eavesdropper.  As  quickly  it  came  back  again,  and 
he  was  seeing,  not  soldiers,  not  a  camp,  but  her  face 
as  he  went,  as  military  etiquette  required,  to  report 
to  his  superior  before  going  to  his  company.  The 
General's  warm  congratulations,  which  otherwise 
would  have  thrilled  him  to  the  finger-tips,  were  only 
a  drop  into  the  full  cup  of  his  happiness,  and  the 
heartiness  of  the  recipient's  thanks  was  the  expression 
of  his  feeling  toward  the  Creator  for  making  the 
world  so  fair,  rather  than  toward  the  General  specifi- 
cally. This  time  he  was  not  a  man  under  charges 
with  military  formality  pressing  down  his  indigna- 
tion, but  a  guest  occupying  a  chair  with  a  beaming 
instead  of  a  scowling  authority  opposite.  When  they 
had  talked  for  some  time,  the  General  brought  out 

362 


THE  VAGABOND 

that  famous  bottle,  and  then,  with  a  teasing  glance, 
asked : 

"Did  you  get  the  girl  ?" 

"I  have  hopes,  sir,  and  you  a  secret  to  keep,  sir." 

"Good!  Precisely,  my  boy,"  came  the  congratu- 
lation and  the  answer  to  the  hint. 

The  General  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  part  with  him. 
He  made  talk  till  they  heard  the  tramp  of  hoofs 
(which  was  the  fruition  of  a  plan  on  which  he  had 
speeded  an  orderly),  when  he  drew  aside  the  flap  of 
the  tent  and  the  Vagabond  looked  out  upon  his  Vaga- 
bonds two  deep,  with  their  sabres  so  many  upright 
gleams  beside  their  bronzed  faces  in  greeting  of  their 
leader. 

"The  manner  of  your  return  is  some  reparation 
for  the  manner  of  your  departure,"  the  General  re- 
sponded. "You  may  well  be  proud  of  them.  When 
Southbridge  chased  them  right  into  our  lines  they 
swore,  they  were  fairly  insubordinate — bless  'em ! — • 
because  I  wouldn't  let  them  return  to  attack  the  whole 
Confederate  army  to  get  you  back — for  I  supposed, 
of  course,  that  you  were  a  prisoner." 

The  Vagabond  longed  to  go  to  each  stalwart,  loyal 
fellow  and  clap  him  on  the  shoulder  in  harmony  of 
spirit,  in  memory  of  the  work  they  had  done  and  in 
promise  of  the  work  they  were  yet  to  do  together. 
The  instant  his  leg  was  over  the  saddle,  Breaker  flew 
to  the  leader's  place  as  he  would  to  a  waiting  stall 
with  a  full  bin. 

"Think  of  that,  you  slim  piece  of  impertinence, 
Jimmy  Pool !"  said  Tim  Booker,  after  they  were  dis- 
mounted and  lounging  in  the  leader's  tent.  "Think 
of  a  man  that  had  a  hole  clean  through  his  body  look- 

363 


THE  VAGABOND 

ing  as  cocky  as  if  he  had  never  been  flat  on  his  back 
with  the  doctor  pulling  on  his  gloves  and  the  under- 
taker at  the  door!" 

"Hat  and  boots,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  back,"  drawled 
Jimmy. 

"Why  do  you  put  in  the  hat  and  boots  ?"  Tim  in- 
quired. "You  may  run  short  of  words  some  day  and 
repent  the  waste." 

"Humph!"  ejaculated  Jimmy. 

"More  waste !"  chuckled  Tim.     "It's  ruinous." 

"You  look  here,  Timothy" — Jimmy  was  almost 
angry — "I  want  you  to  know  that  I  think  just  as 
much  of  the  Vagabond  as  you  do,  and  I've  worried 
just  as  much  about  him  as  you  have." 

"Yes,  you  think  it,"  Tim  threw  back  his  head  and 
let  out  such  a  laugh  as  had  fascinated  the  Vagabond 
in  the  corn-rows,  "and  I  say  it  for  both.  Why,  if  you 
talked  as  much  as  I  did  I'd  have  nobody  to  listen  to 
me — I  wouldn't  like  you  at  all,  Jimmy  Pool ;  that's 
a  fact." 

"And  if  you  turned  as  silent  as  I,  Tim,  I'd  be  as 
lonesome  as  a  man  who's  moved  away  from  the  roar 
of  Niagara  Falls." 

"And  what  is  the  news  ?"  the  Vagabond  asked. 

"McClellan  rides  around  the  army  every  day  to 
make  sure  that  none  of  his  lambs  have  strayed  away 
where  the  naughty,  horrid  Johnny  Kebs  might  hurt 
'em.  He  always  looks  just  as  comfortable  and  know- 
ing as  the  cat  that  swallowed  the  canary.  But  he 
hasn't  swallowed  the  canary.  He  wouldn't  be  guilty 
of  shedding  blood.  If  a  mosquito  bit  him  he'd  throw 
up  breastworks.  He's  terribly  worried  because  he 
hasn't  more  men.  He'd  like  every  able-bodied  man 

364 


THE  VAGABOND 

in  the  country  in  his  camp,  where  they'd  be  safe — 
so  many  are  killed  by  accident  at  home.  'My  brave, 
handsome  boys,  hang  your  clothes  on  a  hickory-limb, 
but  don't  go  near  the  water,  and  drill  a  little  more, 
and  look  out  not  to  get  corns  on  your  feet,  there's  a 
set  of  dears,  to  please  your  General,'  he  says,  and 
rides  back  to  Washington.  He  says  it  so  prettily, 
and  he's  such  a  peaceable  little  man,  that  you  can't 
help  liking  him.  He  can  make  a  beautiful  cake, 
yes,  sir,  and  he's  so  taken  up  with  making  curlycues 
on  the  frosting  that  he's  afraid  to  bake  it.  He'll 
stand  before  the  stove,  saying,  'Shall  I  or  sha'n't  I  ? 
Is  it  time,  or  isn't  it  ?  She  loves  me,  she  loves  me 
not,'  till  the  oven's  cold ;  and  then  he'll  conclude  that 
a  chocolate  cake'd  been  better,  anyway,  and  start  over 
again.  His  friends  still  compare  the  things  he's  going 
to  do  with  the  things  Napoleon  did.  As  you  say, 
Billy,  have  a  good  look  at  a  thing  before  you  get 
scared  about  it;  but  the  General  shuts  his  eyes  and 
calls  for  reinforcements.  If  he  had  a  million  men 
he'd  take  it  for  granted  that  the  Johnnies  had  a 
million  and  a  half.  Oh,  I  never  expect  to  see  the 
eternal  hills  of  California  again.  I'm  going  to  stay 
in  the  army  and  die  of  old  age." 

"Criticising  superiors,"  said  Jimmy. 

"You  think  it:  I  say  it,"  Tim  rejoined.  "And  the 
company?"  the  Vagabond  asked.  "The  company?" 

Tim  was  most  soberly  exact  in  details  one  moment 
and  quite  the  contrary  the  next  (when  his  eyes 
twinkled)  in  a  long  recital,  which  was  eventually  in- 
terrupted by  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Williams  and  the 
Colonel,  whose  regiment  was  now  in  camp.  Felicia 
did  not  wait  for  her  nephew  to  make  the  overtures 

365 


THE  VAGABOND 

this  time;  she  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 
kissed  him  fondly. 

"What  a  handsome  pair  you  make!"  the  Vaga- 
bond said.  "I'm  proud  of  you.  That's  better,  uncle, 
that  eagle.  That's  what  you  ought  to  have  on  your 
shoulder." 

"Don't  talk  about  us!"  cried  Felicia.  "Talk 
about  yourself !  To  think  that  you  should  have  been 
lying  at  the  point  of  death  and  I  shouldn't  have  the 
privilege  of  nursing  you !  It  seems  as  if  I'd  never 
done  anything  for  you  from  the  first — when  you 
wouldn't  live  with  me.  Oh,  it  wasn't  because  I 
didn't  try.  I  dropped  everything  and  hastened  to 
Arlington  the  minute  I  heard  of  it.  General  Huested 
wouldn't  listen  to  my  going.  I  went  to  the  President 
and  thought  I'd  get  a  permit  over  the  General's  head. 
Do  you  know  that  Abraham  Lincoln  has  more  than  a 
backbone  ?  He  can  be  real  contrary. 

"  'We  need  you  here,'  he  said,  in  that  soft,  honest 
way  of  his,  without  putting  it  on  thick,  as  most 
politicians  do,  so  it  doesn't  count  with  anybody  that 
can  see  through  a  sieve.  'Maybe  those  two  ladies 
wouldn't  be  quite  so  hospitable  if  they  had  two  Fed- 
erals in  their  house,  and  one  of  them  neither  sick  nor 
wounded  and  come  without  an  invitation.' 

"He  does  have  a  wonderful  way,  that  big  man  of 
yours,  Billy,  of  calming  you  down  with  a  word  or 
leaving  you  with  nothing  to  do  but  sputter.  And 
sputter  I  did  and  came  away.  And  sputter  I  have, 
and  waited  for  you  and  worried  about  you.  Now 
that  you  are  back,  I'm  perfectly  happy.  And  here  I 
am,  telling  you  to  talk  about  yourself" — Felicia  had 
gained  much  vivacity,  charm,  and  youthfulness  of 

366 


THE    VAGABOND 

late — "and  then  talking  about  myself,  without  giv«- 
ing  you  a  chance  to  say  a  word.  Were  those  two 
ladies  very  kind  to  you  ?" 

"Very." 

"Had  they  lots  of  slaves  ?" 

"Very  many." 

"And  were  they  kind  to  them?" 

"Very." 

"Soldiering  does  make  men  so  monosyllabic.!" 
She  was  not  disappointed  to  hear  that  the  slaves  were 
well  treated;  no — but  when  one  goes  to  war  for  a 
great  principle,  one  likes  to  have  facts  support  it. 

"They  are  kind  because  they  are  kind  people.  It 
all  depends  on  who  the  slaves'  master  is." 

"And  that  is  the  worst  of  the  system,"  she  re- 
torted. "It  palliates — it  obscures!" 

"Er-er,"  observed  the  Judge,  who  was  too  happy 
these  days  to  care  for  arguments.  "Was  the  young 
woman  pretty?" 

Pretty  ?  The  Vagabond  had  never  thought  of 
Volilla  in  that  light.  Pretty?  The  word  was  too 
small  for  her. 

"Fine-looking,  yes,"  he  said. 

"Ha!  So?"  The  Judge  nudged  his  wife.  "You 
know  what  happened  to  my  nurse  and  myself,  eh  ? 
Oh,  it's  my  turn  to  badger  you  now,  Billy !" 

"Your  nurse  was  a  Federal,"  the  Vagabond  re- 
plied. 

"Good !"  said  Felicia.  "I  like  to  hear  vou  say 
that." 

The  Judge  had  no  idea  how  near  he  had  come  to 
the  quick.  Since  Father  Bob's  death,  the  secret  was 
shared  only  with  that  iron-bound,  double-locked  re- 

367 


THE  VAGABOND 

pository,  the  General.  When  the  Colonel  and  Mrs. 
Williams  had  gone,  the  Vagabond  sank  back  on  his 
cot  and  fell  into  the  delicious  sleep  of  extreme  phys- 
ical fatigue  and  of  the  hazy  consciousness  of  sud- 
den great  happiness  yet  to  be  fully  understood  and 
appreciated.  Awakening  shortly  after  dusk,  with 
strength  refreshed  and  mind  clear,  every  event  of 
the  previous  day  ranged  itself  in  sharp  outline  in 
seemingly  normal  relation  to  the  others.  How  could 
he  have  so  befooled  himself  in  making  a  wish  the 
father  to  a  thought !  Another  woman's  refusal 
might  mean  acceptance,  but  not  hers,  not  hers.  Yet 
why  had  she  ridden  so  far  with  him?  Because  of 
her  anger  with  him  for  whipping  Southbridge  ?  To 
see  him  safely  off  her  estate,  perhaps.  Why  should 
she  have  come  to  him  after  the  fight  at  all  ?  Instead, 
why  shouldn't  she  have  gone  to  Southbridge  with 
sympathy  for  his  misfortune?  Ah,  that  was  easily 
explained  in  the  light  of  his  ideals  of  her.  She  had 
seen  her  champion  attack  a  sick  man,  whose  health 
had  been  in  her  keeping,  and  she  went  not  to  the  one 
who  rode  away  but  to  the  one  who  was  too  weak  to 
leave  the  field.  She  had  blamed  herself  for  thought- 
lessness and  gone  to  fill  the  canteen,  and,  not  finding 
it  in  her  heart  to  ask  him  back  to  the  house,  she  had 
escorted  him  at  the  same  time  that  she  could  not  re- 
sist expressing  her  indignation  because  he  had  won 
— always  won. 

Pity !  A  proud  nature  groping  for  an  explanation 
comes  slowly  to  that.  His  love  for  her  had  led 
to  his  wound;  to  the  charge  against  him;  to  the 
fight  with  Southbridge.  She  would  not  be  like 
herself,  like  what  he  wished  her  to  be,  unless 

368 


THE  VAGABOND 

she  felt  some  responsibility  and  a  desire  to  save  him 
from  the  consequences  of  his  sentimental  folly.  Pity 
and  a  sense  of  self -blame  had  sent  her  to  the  Union 
lines  for  a  doctor,  saved  him  from  being  made  a  Con- 
federate prisoner,  and  nursed  him  without  preju- 
dice. Pity  and  self-blame  and  enmity,  pulling  her 
this  way  and  that,  accounted  for  all.  They  spoke 
when  she  said,  "I  don't  want  you  to  win,  and  I  don't 
want  to  break  your  heart."  Yet  his  last  glimpse 
of  her,  with  the  inexplicable  force  of  inborn  su- 
perstition outweighing  reason,  crowding  into  his 
thoughts  unbidden,  scorned  his  logic.  A  glance  can 
carry  a  heart's  message  as  quickly  and  as  truly  as  a 
diamond  flashes  out  of  the  darkness.  Could  a  dia- 
mond of  such  lustre  be  made  of  paste  ?  Could  that 
smile  stand  for  only  a  kindly  farewell  to  a  guest  ?  He 
did  not  think  so;  he  did  not  dare,  in  face  of  his  fears,  to 
think  otherwise. 

Your  man  of  Yes  and  !No  cannot  stand  long  be- 
tween the  fires  of  doubt;  he  is  bound  to  charge  one 
way  or  the  other.  Why  had  he  not  spoken  again 
while  she  rode  with  him  that  morning?  Had  she 
wished  it?  Had  she  expected  it?  He  would  pour 
out  his  love  again;  he  would  force  his  speech  with 
the  abandon  that  his  heart  commanded  and  her  dif- 
fidence might  demand  ere  she  consented.  This  time 
he  sought  the  General's  permission  for  his  journey. 
The  General  b-r-red  and  drummed.  As  he  promised 
not  to  ask  again,  yes — "on  a  scout,  of  course." 

"When  a  man  loves  a  woman  wholly  and  cleanly 
and  mightily,"  he  thought  the  next  morning,  as  he 
followed  the  road  that  had  no  turnings  for  him,  "it 
is  the  greatest  thing  of  his  life — a  thing  so  frail  that 

369 


THE  VAGABOND 

it  is  like  a  bubble,  so  solid  and  gleaming  that  it  is 
like  gold.  Then  the  world's  business  must  wait,  then 
his  heart  must  be  master.  Climbing  mountains  and 
finding  mines  and  leading  charges  are  only  joyful 
sacrifices  on  that  altar.  If  you  would  be  strong,  it  is 
for  her  admiration.  You  do  not  mind  whether  the 
crowd  speaks  in  cheers  or  hisses  so  their  echo  is 
praise  from  her  lips." 

His  arrival  was  timed  to  her  morning  ride,  which 
was  later  now  that  the  weather  was  cool ;  and  he  had 
been  waiting  under  the  trees  for  some  time  when 
Folly  was  brought  to  the  curb.  As  Volilla  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway  he  pledged  himself  again,  as 
he  had  in  each  passing  moment,  not  to  be  tongue-tied 
by  a  no !  His  gentleness  that  hitherto  had  kept  him 
from  even  the  semblance  of  persecuting  her  with  his 
love  was  submerged  in  the  feverish  mingling  of  hopes 
and  fears.  In  the  serene  cheerfulness  that  had  won 
him  the  privilege  of  telling  his  story,  he  rode  forward 
to  meet  her  on  the  drive.  Her  start  of  surprise  this 
time  had  the  edge  of  defiance.  He  had  thought  of 
the  smile  of  her  parting  until  he  fancied  that  as  he 
had  left  her  so  he  should  find  her,  thus  to  begin  his 
courtship  again.  Even  her  adorable  hair  seemed  a 
part  of  a  statue's  cold  outline ;  not  a  single  strand  was 
free.  All  self-possession  and  composure,  she  stared 
at  him  as  if  he  were  an  offender  without  the  pale  of 
excuse.  He  was  speechless. 

"Unless  professionally,  with  their  troops,  I  advise 
Union  officers  not  to  pay  any  calls  till  the  war  is 
over.  Come,  Folly!" 

"Magnificent !"  he  thought,  as  she  rode  away.  "I 
— I  didn't  mean  to  play  the  brute  or  ingrate,"  were 

370 


THE    VAGABOND 

his  first  words,  spoken  in  a  half -whisper  and  unheard 
by  her.  After  she  had  passed  out  of  sight,  riding 
southward,  he  still  looked  at  the  space  between  the 
trees  where  he  had  last  seen  her.  When  finally,  and 
it  seemed  to  require  all  his  strength  to  draw  the  rein, 
he  turned  Breaker's  head,  he  caught  sight  of  Marcus 
Aurelius  coming  toward  him.  Marcus  had  not  ob- 
served mankind  at  home  and  abroad  to  no  avail.  He 
understood  the  situation. 

"I  hope  yo'se  bettah,  sah,"  he  managed  to  say. 

"Yes,  quite  well,  and  I  want  to  leave  a  note  for 
Miss  Lanley." 

The  idea  had  come  to  him  as  he  spoke ;  and  he  took 
out  his  little  sketch-book.  On  the  other  side  of  a  sheet 
which  had  a  picture  of  Folly  which  he  had  made  dur- 
ing his  convalescence  he  wrote : 

"I  shall  love  you  for  all  time.  I  shall  hope.  I 
shall  wait.  I  shall  come  when  the  war  is  over." 

Passing  out  of  the  yard,  he  saw  Volilla  in  the  dis- 
tance in  the  lane  where  his  story  had  been  told,  and 
he  saw  Southbridge  coming  across  the  fields  to  join 
her. 


371 


PART   III 

XL 

THE    LONG    WAIT 

After  all,  there  are  only  two  philosophies :  Stoop- 
shouldered  pessimism  and  erect,  sky-gazing  op- 
timism. If  pessimism  has  an  illusion,  prompt  reac- 
tion makes  it  ashamed  of  a  fall  from  grace ;  if 
trouble  assaults  optimism,  for  the  sake  of  self-en- 
couragement it  adds  another  story  to  castles  in  the 
air.  Pessimism,  when  it  does  not  run  away,  can  only 
hold  on  to  what  it  possesses.  Optimism  will  charge 
and  charge  again  till  it  wins  the  goal,  or,  failing  it, 
finds  joy  in  its  scars,  and  cheers  on  others  who  enter 
the  lists.  In  its  grandest  moments  it  can  call  death 
a  sweet  sleep.  And  the  Vagabond,  before  he  had 
reached  the  Union  lines  on  his  return  from  Lanley- 
ton,  had  fallen  back  on  his  boyish  reasoning  that  a 
thing  would  never  come  true  unless  you  believed 
"hard"  that  it  would. 

In  all  the  days  dragging  into  months  and  in  all 
the  months  dragging  by  slow  accumulation  into 
years  until  March  of  '65,  no  one  except  himself  knew 
what  he  carried  in  his  heart;  how  it  had  given  zest 
to  his  blows,  because  he  tried  to  find  strength  in  the 


THE    VAGABOND 

smile  of  one  farewell  rather  than  weakness  in  the 
scorn  of  another. 

Hope  ran  high  with  each  new  experiment  in 
generals  and  each  new  campaign,  to  end  in  waiting 
again  after  all  the  might  of  the  North  had  thrown 
itself  against  the  Confederacy  in  vain.  The  war  had 
become  an  institution.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of 
citizens  had  become  a  great  organization,  with  a 
regular's  training  and  volunteers'  hearts,  beating 
time  to  the  tune  of  death,  and  embalming-shops  were 
as  thick  in  the  streets  of  Washington  as  booths  at  a 
fair.  In  the  North,  skirmishes  were  a  matter-of-fact 
subject  of  comment,  like  the  market  prices;  great 
battles  brought  grief  to  hearts  of  relatives  and 
friends  of  the  dead  and  relief  to  relatives  of  the  living, 
and  business  went  on  again  and  the  national  debt  grew 
and  Lincolnian  politics  smote  coppery  heads  when  they 
arose;  while  in  the  South,  man,  woman,  and  child 
felt  in  every  daily  association  the  paucity  of  food  and 
clothes  without  thought  of  suing  for  peace. 

On  the  Fredericksburg  campaign  the  Vagabond 
had  again  ridden  along  the  road  which  held  his  most 
cherished  memories.  When  he  came  to  the  knoll 
from  which  he  had  expected  to  see  the  white  cupola  he 
saw  instead  a  column  of  smoke.  Though  they  pressed 
forward  with  all  haste,  the  troop  did  not  arrive  until 
the  roof  of  Lanleyton  had  fallen;  but  they  had  the 
satisfaction  of  capturing  the  incendiary.  For  a  mo- 
ment the  men  thought  that  their  leader  would 
strangle  him  where  he  stood. 

"Take  charge  of  the  prisoner  and  keep  him  with 
us,  Jimmy,"  was  the  instruction,  finally. 

374 


THE  VAGABOND 

Three  days  later,  the  Vagabonds,  dismounted,  lay 
hugging  the  fragment  of  a  stone  wall;  bullets  dipping 
from  the  heights  whistled  over  their  heads  and  tossed 
up  the  dust  at  their  feet,  which  were  drawn  close  to 
their  bodies;  charges  of  canister  struck  their  scant 
breastworks  with  a  crash  or  passed  over  with  the  roar 
of  a  hurricane  through  a  frozen  rigging;  and  the 
level  of  the  continual  musketry  fire  was  broken  by 
the  explosion  of  shells  as  the  noise  of  city  traffic  is 
broken  by  the  clangor  of  an  ambulance's  gong. 
With  the  missiles  of  death  as  thick  in  the  rear  as  in 
front,  the  troops  must  wait  for  darkness  before  they 
could  leave  the  scene  of  a  battle  already  lost. 

Jimmy  Pool  had  obeyed  commands  with  a  literal- 
ness  that  had  not  been  authorized.  His  cold  gray 
eyes  and  his  thin-lipped  mouth  had  become  a  haunt- 
ing vision  to  the  prisoner.  At  his  side  as  he  knelt 
back  of  the  line  was  a  cringing,  shivering  thing  in 
human  form  who  alternately  put  his  hand  to  his  eyes 
to  hide  the  sight  of  blood  and  to  his  ears  to  keep  out 
the  terrible  sounds.  If  he  tried  to  seek  the  protection 
of  Jimmy's  body,  Jimmy  moved  to  one  side;  if  he 
tried  to  crawl  among  the  men,  Jimmy  pulled  him 
back  to  the  same  position  of  danger  as  himself. 

"It  is  a  beautiful  day,  elsewhere,"  remarked 
Jimmy. 

The  charge  of  a  shrapnel  bursting  near  blew  the 
sulphurous  smoke  into  their  nostrils. 

"I  can't — I  can't  stay  here,"  Aikens  gasped.  He 
started  tremblingly  to  rise,  as  if  he  would  run. 

"I  wouldn't  undertake  to  retreat  now,  myself.  It 
is  jumping  off  the  precipice — sure  death." 

"And  death  to  stay — death — death!  Why  did  I 
3Y5 


THE    VAGABOND 

burn  that  house?  Why  did  I  forge  that  note?  It's 
the  devil  born  in  me — envy  of  power  and  love  of 
money.  I  can  see  that  girl,  Belle — I  can  see  Mr. 
Lanley  and  I  can  see  her,  Miss  Lanley,  when  he  was 
going  to  shoot  me — I  can  hear  her  say :  'Don't  do  mur- 
der! Don't!  He's  not  worth  it!' — and  I  hated  her 
for  that — and  I  was.  doing  well  in  the  North — I  was 
quite  a  hero,  there — and  I  had  plans — but  when  a 
man  faced  me  down  I  could  not  forget  him,  and  I 
had  to  strike  back  in  my  way.  Oh,  Lieutenant,  don't 
look  at  me  with  those  terrible  eyes  of  yours!" 

"Jimmy,  I  am  afraid  you  are  going  too  far,"  said 
the  Vagabond.  "Come,  Aikens,  there's  poor  Edson. 
We  will  lift  him  to  one  side  and  you  take  his  rifle. 
If  you  use  it  half  as  well  as  he  did,  I  will  forgive 
you.  Come,  once  you  are  firing,  you  won't  feel  it  so 
much!" 

"I — I — I  couldn't!"  Aikens  gasped.  One  had  only 
to  look  at  his  livid  face  to  understand  that  he  spoke 
the  truth. 

"Then  take  his  intrenching  tool  and  dig  yourself 
a  hole.  That  will  protect  you." 

"Oh — thank  you — I — "  He  made  an  effort  to 
reach  the  spade,  which  hung  in  the  dead  man's  belt, 
but  hugged  the  earth  again  when  a  bullet  passed  near 
him.  "I— I— can't!" 

"Then  I'll  dig  it  for  you,"  said  the  Vagabond,  and 
started  to  do  so.  "I  can't  bear  to  see  anyone  suffer- 
ing as  you  are.  The  fear  is  inborn.  I  know  you  can- 
not help  it." 

"By  trying  to  avoid  death  you  are  calling  it," 
Jimmy  observed. 

There  was  a  moment's  deceitful  lull  in  the  firing, 
376 


THE    VAGABOND 

significant  of  a  heavier  fusillade  to  come.  Looking 
behind  him,  Aikens,  for  the  first  time,  saw  not  a 
single  one  of  the  little  fountains  of  dust  which  the 
bullets  threw  up  in  seeming  vexation  at  having  missed 
their  marks.  A  wild  impulse  and  a  wilder  hope  sud- 
denly gave  his  limbs  strength,  and  he  ran.  Before  he 
had  gone  ten  yards  he  fell  with  a  wound  in  the  leg. 

"He  mustn't  stay  there!"  the  Vagabond  cried,  and 
not  only  he  but  Jimmy  Pool  sprang  toward  him. 
They  had  scarcely  started  when  a  shell  burst  fairly 
over  his  head,  and  the  life  and  the  blood  went  out 
of  his  body  like  the  water  out  of  a  squeezed  sponge. 

Returning  from  that  field  of  needless  butchery, 
which  never  disturbed  the  nerves  of  a  fat-witted 
commander,  in  sight  of  the  ashes  of  Lanleyton, 
wet  by  the  rains  which  the  thunders  of  battle  had 
drawn,  the  Vagabond  wondered  if  its  mistress  could 
ever  love  a  man  who  had  worn  the  Blue.  "I  shall 
hope!  I  shall  wait!"  Then,  as  he  rested  under  the 
trees,  picturing  just  how  the  old  place  had  looked,  he 
suddenly  passed  into  the  fever  of  an  inspiration. 

So  long  engaged  in  destruction,  at  last  he  was  to 
do  something  more  to  his  taste — he  was  to  build. 
Seizing  the  first  opportunity  for  leave,  he  consulted 
architects  and  contractors,  and  instead  of  the  promo- 
tion which  again  had  been  offered  him,  he  secured 
official  complicity  and  even  a  guard  for  his  project  as 
soon  as  the  final  campaign  of  the  war  was  begun  and 
Lanleyton  was  a  point  safely  in  Federal  territory  and 
lying  well  out  of  the  army's  track.  He  had  an  ally 
in  the  wife  of  one  of  the  new  brigadiers.  Here  was 
work  in  keeping  with  Felicia's  part,  which,  in  her 

377 


THE    VAGABOND 

own  words,  was  to  "help."  Of  Volilla  lie  had  heard 
only  what  the  questioning  of  prisoners  could  glean. 
She  was  still  alive,  sometimes  in  Lynchburg,  some- 
times in  Richmond,  nursing  the  sick,  encouraging  the 
strong. 

When  Grant  and  Sheridan  came  out  of  his  West 
— out  of  his  land  of  great  plains,  great  mountains, 
and  great  rivers — he  was  thankful  for  his  own  as 
well  as  for  his  country's  sake.  "On  this  line  all  sum- 
mer !"  What  solace  that  to  a  weary  President  and 
that  weary  land  that  had  supported  him  in  loyal  ex- 
penditure of  lives  and  funds  and  had  seen  their 
forces  sweep  back  and  forth  like  the  changing  of  the 
tides.  Grant  would  attack  and  attack  and  attack  and 
not  fall  back — and  not  fall  back  !  For  the  first  time 
that  magnificent  soldiery  had  a  leader  worthy  of  it, 
who  made  a  battering-ram  of  its  courage  instead  of 
a  theatrical  display.  At  last  the  thinking  privates, 
with  whom  initiative  was  inborn,  knew  that  for 
every  death  there  would  be  a  gain  that  would  not 
be  forfeited.  From  that  day,  as  he  tells  us  in  his 
memoirs,  when  as  a  colonel  of  volunteers  the  square- 
jawed  man,  with  many  misgivings,  had  ridden  over  a 
hill  to  attack  a  Confederate  regiment  and  found  that 
the  regiment  had  gone,  he  concluded  to  leave  the 
worrying  to  the  other  side;  to  go  ahead  when  in 
doubt.  If  his  men  were  tired  or  untrained,  so  were 
the  enemy's;  and  the  turning-point  of  fortune  would 
be  the  aggressor's.  Such  his  simple  characteristic, 
which  no  rumors,  no  temporary  disaster,  no  advice 
could  change ;  such  the  sum  of  the  great  man's  virtue. 

Sheridan  brought  to  an  army  three  years  under 
arms  the  new  reasoning  that  if  men  on  horseback 

378 


THE  VAGABOND 

were  to  fight  on  foot  with  infantry,  why  have 
mounted  men  at  all?  Thenceforth,  the  cavalry  was 
not  to  lie  in  intrenchments  or  to  patrol  the  rear,  not 
to  get  scared  before  it  had  a  good  look  at  a  thing,  but 
to  court  danger  as  if  danger  were  its  sweetheart.  It 
was  no  park  saddle  work,  that  under  the  little  Irish- 
man who  strung  dead  men  and  dead  horses  about  the 
State  of  Virginia  to  end  the  war  instead  of  allowing 
them  to  die  in  camp  to  prolong  it. 

The  Vagabonds  had  played  their  part  heroically, 
whether  at  the  Yellow  Tavern,  when  the  Northern 
cavalry  cleared  its  escutcheon  of  Stuart's  rebukes,  or 
in  the  exacting  vigils  of  the  scout.  They  had  ridden 
in  all  weathers,  ridden  until  they  were  so  many  nod- 
ding automatons  napping  in  their  saddles;  until 
their  muscles  were  as  stiff  as  sole  leather;  and  they 
had  been  happy  in  their  hardships,  as  all  true  sol- 
diers are  when  they  are  gaining  ground  and  not 
treading  air.  Of  the  hundred  who  started  gayly  from 
Belmore,  thirty  were  left;  while  kind  fortune  had 
preserved  their  three  leaders  to  lend  their  personal 
example  to  consummate  skill  and  spirit  of  corps. 
The  Vagabond  had  still  another  scar;  Tim  Booker 
had  four;  and  wiry  Jimmy  Pool  had  lost  buttons  and 
had  his  hair  singed  without  having  his  flesh  touched 
beyond  that  white  welt  across  his  cheek  which  a  Con- 
federate sabre  had  dealt  at  the  cost  of  its  owner's  life. 

"You've  been  hit  often  enough,  little  Boy  Blue," 
said  Tim.  "If  you'll  get  a  microscope  and  look  your- 
self over  you'll  find  you're  like  a  pepper-box  cover. 
Yes,  you've  been  shot  through  and  through  with  solid 
shot,  shrapnel  and  canister;  but  you're  so  thin  you 
never  noticed  it." 

379 


THE    VAGABOND 

If  there  was  an  ounce  of  surplus  tissue  in  the 
troop  it  had  no  outward  semblance.  Your  pink- 
skinned  athletes,  too,  had  gone  to  the  wall  along  with 
the  feather-bed  boys,  the  men  of  gristle,  rubber,  and 
endurance  surviving,  even  as  the  mustang  outwears 
the  sleek  carriage-horse.  Timothy's  own  bunching 
muscles  of  California  days  had  given  way  to  hard- 
ened sinews.  Having  in  that  hopefully  beginning, 
disastrously  ending,  Peninsula  campaign  refused  to 
trim  his  beard  until  the  Union  army  was  in  Rich- 
mond, it  had  reached  downward  until  it  was  in  dan- 
ger of  being  entangled  with  his  horse's  mane.  But 
Tim  was  steadfast ;  he  would  not  break  his  word.  On 
the  famous  ride  around  the  Confederate  army,  which 
brought  them  in  sight  of  the  enemy's  capital,  after 
his  whiskers  got  caught  in  a  branch  of  a  tree  he  went 
to  Jimmy  with  a  pair  of  scissors  and  said : 

"If  you'll  just  do  a  man's  duty  to  man  while  I 
sleep,  I  guess  I'll  count  this  as  good  as  entering  Rich- 
mond." 

Jimmy  complying  most  literally,  Tim  protested 
that  he  did  not  mean  so  much ;  and  Jimmy  drawled : 

"You're  asleep,  Timothy;  mind  your  conscience," 
and  clipped  his  friend  to  the  flesh. 

In  the  morning,  for  want  of  a  mirror,  Tim  could 
not  tell  how  he  looked,  only  how  he  felt ;  and  he  felt 
much  ashamed  of  Jimmy  and  like  a  sheep  after  the 
spring  shearing,  he  said. 

Good-nature  was  never  lacking  in  that  band.  Its 
captain's  smile  was  better  than  drums  or  battle-flags. 
He  had  the  proper  spirit,  to  begin  with,  even  had  he 
not  taken  a  note  out  of  Father  Bob's  book,  in  which 
it  Traa  written  that  uphill  was  easier  for  simply  call- 

380 


THE    VAGABOND 

ing  it  downhill.  The  rain  washed  off  the  dust,  and 
the  broiling  sun  kept  the  road  dry ;  the  mud  was  al- 
ways as  deep  on  the  Confederate  side  as  on  the 
Union.  When  they  had  to  eat  their  bacon  raw,  he 
reminded  his  brave  fellows  that  it  wasn't  any  harder 
on  the  pig;  when  they  rested  their  weary  bones  on 
the  damp  earth,  he  reminded  them  that  the  infantry 
didn't  even  have  saddles  for  pillows.  However  down- 
hearted they  were,  he  could  stretch  lengthening 
faces  laterally  as  he  rode  along  the  line  with  a  fa- 
miliar toss  of  his  head  and  a  word  of  cheer. 

The  organization  was  not  so  much  a  company  as 
a  family,  such  was  the  superior  quality  of  the  men 
themselves,  such  their  affection  for  their  commander, 
who  made  discipline  easy,  though  sharp,  because  it 
was  uniform.  His  distinction  as  a  troop-leader  had 
given  him  many  opportunities,  which,  if  they  were 
not  as  good  as  climbing  mountains,  were  after  his 
own  heart,  and  made  him  more  valuable  in  his  chosen 
field  of  scout  and  ready  unit  of  small  numbers  than 
if  he  had  been  a  general.  His  greatest  drawback  in 
the  eyes  of  his  superiors  was  a  tendency  to  take  risks 
too  lightly ;  for  at  times  he  would  forget  all  else  ex- 
cept the  relaxation  from  weary  monotony  and  his 
heart's  burden  which  the  preoccupation  of  danger 
brought.  But  this  had  its  advantage.  They  had 
grown  so  accustomed  to  his  successes,  which  he  al- 
ways contemptuously  called  "tricking  policemen," 
that  they  trusted  to  his  genius  to  accomplish  things 
that  but  for  him  would  not  have  been  undertaken. 

"If  you  keep  him  idle  too  long,"  General  Huested 
told  General  Sheridan,  "you  may  find  him  gone  to 
New  Orleans  on  his  own  account.  He  feeds  on  dif- 

381 


THE    VAGABOND 

ficulties.    Only,  for  his  sake  and  mine,  don't  let  him 
have  too  many  delicacies  of  that  kind." 

So  it  was  that  we  find  him  one  of  the  scouting 
points  of  Sheridan's  column  on  the  return  from  the 
back-breaking  and  glorious  campaign  in  the  Shen- 
andoah  and  advancing  in  the  direction  of  Lynch- 
burg.  Mud-splashed,  gaunt,  in  the  teeth  of  a  March 
wind,  he  rode  well  ahead  of  his  command  over  the 
mire  called  a  pike,  on  the  back  of  the  faithful 
Breaker,  who,  at  the  mature  age  of  seven,  was  the 
hardiest  veteran  of  them  all.  At  a  turn  in  the  road 
he  saw  a  horse  standing  in  the  street  opposite  one  of 
the  four  or  five  buildings  responsible  for  the  dot  on 
the  map  called  a  C.  H.  There  was  something  fa- 
miliar about  him,  and  the  man  that  held  him  seemed 
to  be  one  that  he  had  seen.  He  was  little  nearer,  he 
had  in  no  way  defined  the  association,  when  a  woman 
came  out  of  the  door  with  a  lightness  and  a  facility 
and  haste  evident  even  at  a  distance  and  sprang  into 
the  saddle,  her  steed,  with  a  perfect  understanding 
of  her  desire,  starting  at  the  gallop  instantly  he  felt 
her  in  place,  the  whole  making  a  picture  of  action 
and  grace  sufficient  to  have  made  the  weariest  of  cav- 
alry-men raise  his  eyebrows  in  admiration.  Once  her 
figure  was  clear  against  the  dun  color  of  the  road  and 
earth,  its  haunting  familiarity  took  the  form  of  that 
one  which  had  outdistanced  him  in  the  race  after  his 
story  was  told.  The  blood  sang  in  his  temples.  He 
forgot  his  promise  to  himself  not  to  see  her  again  till 
the  war  was  over,  and  put  Breaker  to  the  run. 


382 


XLI 

A  SERVANT   OF   THE   LANLEYS 

But  he  drew  rein  before  he  had  gone  a  dozen  rods. 
His  experience  of  Folly's  superior  speed  might  well 
have  changed  his  mind;  if  the  fact  that  he  was  a  re- 
sponsible person  with  a  definite  mission  to  perform 
had  not.  There  could  have  been  no  keener  expression 
of  the  satire  of  civil  war  than  the  nature  of  this  one 
glimpse  in  three  years  of  the  girl  he  loved.  Why 
was  she  here  ?  Where  was  she  going  ?  The  deserted 
square,  with  no  living  figure  now  in  sight,  was  the 
only  reply;  and  he  looked  away  from  it  at  hia 
horse's  ears  absently,  until  he  was  reminded  that  he 
Was  the  eyes  of  the  army,  and  glancing  up  saw  the 
black  face  of  Mprcus  Aurelius  in  the  doorway  from 
which  Yolilla  had  mounted  her  horse.  As  he  ap- 
proached; Marcus — a  ragged,  hatless  Marcus,  who 
could  not  lose  his  grand  manner — putting  his  finger 
to  his  white  locks  in  a  salute  of  equivocal  recognition 
and  screwing  his  face  into  a  contortion  of  pride  and 
sarcasm,  mumbled : 

"Ef  yo'  come  t'  call  on  Missy  Vo  yo's  late.  She 
done  gone  on." 

The  Vagabond's  desire  to  explore  the  old  servant's 
memory  for  every  fugitive  fact  about  his  mistress 
became  all-compelling.  Calling  to  his  command  to 
proceed  and  he  would  overtake  them,  he  fairly 

383 


THE   VAGABOND 

pushed  Marcus  into  the  deserted  house,  closing  the 
door  behind  them. 

"Now  tell  me!  Tell  me  where  has  Miss  Lanley 
been  all  this  time  and  what  has  she  been  doing?" 

"Yo'  mus'  t'ink  I'se  got  a  long  tongue  an'  a  week 
o'  time,"  the  old  man  replied.  Assuming  the  air  of 
a  stranger,  he  went  on:  "I  don'  know  what  bizness 
my  missis's  is  ob  any  Yankee  sowger." 

"I'm  not  any  Yankee  soldier!  Don't  try  to  put 
on  airs  with  me,  Marcus !  Have  you  forgotten  the 
sick  man  you  helped  up  the  stairs  on  a  cloud  just  as 
easy?  Have  you  forgotten " 

"'Fo'  de  Lawd !  I  nuver,  nuver  f orgit  de  mos'es' 
scrumptious  Yankee  I  uver  see.  ~No,  seh!  'Pears 
like  I  forgit  nuttin'  when  I  ought  t'  forgit  ev'yt'ing. 
When  I  t'inks  what  I'se  been  th'oo,  me  a  gent'man's 
sarvent,  me  a  Lanley,  seh,  wid  my  white  hyars,  I  sez, 
'Marcus,  yo'  jes'  go  lay  down  an'  die  an'  be  quick 
'bout  it.  Yo'se  over-lived  yo'  time  by  fo'  years,  yo* 
ole  fool,  an'  do'  know  nuff  to  know  yo'  oughter  be 
dead.'  Me !  Me  mekin'  all  dis  talk  'bout  my  good- 
fur-nuttin'  se'f,  seh !  It  ain*  me,  seh,  it's  Missy  Vo. 
When  I  t'ink  o'  what  she  been  th'oo,  I  'clar  t'  yo',  seh, 
I  done  b'lieve  dat  a  Yankee  done  push  Marse  Lawd 
off  de  golden  throne,  an'  he's  runnin'  t'ings  t'  suit 
hisse'f. 

"Maybe  yo'  t'ink  yo'  know  Missy  Vo.  Marse 
Richard  he  know  her ;  he  al'ays  know  her.  He  say 
dyah's  some'n'  'way  down  deep  in  Missy  Yo  dat  jes' 
mout  come  t'  de  top  ^n'  mout  nuver.  Yo'  know 
Marse  Richard  he's  one  o'  dem  talkin'  men  dat's  a 
t'inkin'  man,  too.  'Fo'  de  house  bu'n  down,  Missy 
Vo  wuz  al'ayi  tellin'  how  de  front  warn*  no  place 

384 


THE    VAGABOND 

fur  a  'ooman.  No,  seh,  she  sez,  a  'ooman  bettah  stay 
home  an'  ten'  de  blacks  plantin'  an'  hoein'  an'  har- 
vestin'  an'  jes'  be  cheerful  to  give  de  men  hyart.  No 
trousahs  fur  her ;  no,  seh !  But  yo'  nuver  knows 
what  yo'll  do  tell  de  house  tek  a  fire.  Dem  dat  sez 
dey'll  be  cooles'  frows  de  mirrors  out  o'  de  window 
an'  kyars  a  pillow  downstairs;  an'  dem  dat  wuz  on- 
sahtain — seems  ez  ef  dey.  could  smell  whar  de  oldes' 
silvah  an'  pictures  wuz,  an'  dey's  jes'  ez  cahm  ez  a 
cup  o'  tea.  When  we  wuz  'way  t'  Missy  Bulwer's,  an' 
done  hyah  de  house  bu'n,  Missy  Vo  she  jes'  lookin' 
at  de  wall  fur  a  long  time  'f o'  she  speak.  Den  she 
say :  'I'se  no  home,  no  f athah,  no  mothah,  no  gran'- 
f  athah ;  on'y  de  cause  an'  Folly !  I'll  do  all  a  'ooman 
kin.'  An'  Gord  knows  she  has,  she  an'  he  hawse. 
Ef  dyah's  a  brave  man  dat  needs  nussin',  she's  dyah. 
An'  me,  seh!  Gord  he'p  me,  I'se  been  at  he  heels, 
me  a-servin'  an'  Marse  Soufbridge  a-co'tin';  she 
a-ridin'  Folly  an'  me  a-ridin'  a  mule  er  a-walkin'  er 
a-beggin'  a  ride  in  a  wagin.  What  fur  I  kyah  so  I 
kin  look  arfter  her  ?  What  become  o'  her  ef  I  die  ? 
Dat's  all  dat  keeps  me  livin'.  What  yo'  t'ink  she 
wants  t'  do  ?  Yes,  seh,  dat  lady  ez  gentle  ez  a  lady 
could  be !  She  wan'  t'  tu'n  spy !  Yes,  seh,  de  good 
Lawd  he'p  us !  I  tell  her  ef  she  do  I  follow  her.  I 
tell  her  ef  she  stay  I " 

Marcus  Aurelius  stopped  in  terror.  He  recalled 
that  he  was  not  talking  to  a  Confederate. 

"You  went  as  a  spy  yourself  ?"  the  Vagabond  sug- 
gested. 

"'Fo'  Gord,  I  did!"  the  old  man  confessed, 
bravely.  "An'  hang  me  ef  yo'  wants  t' !  Dat's  an 
eaay  way  out  o'  my  trubbles !  Yes,  seh,  I  tell  her 

385 


THE  VAGABOND 

dat  ef  she  go  I  go  too,  an'  quick's  we  wuz  in  de  Yan- 
kee lines  I'd  go  t'  de  Yankee  Gin'ral  an'  I  say :  'Won' 
yo'  please  put  dis  lady  in  a  comf'ble  prison  whar 
she'll  do  no  ha'm?  She's  out  o'  he  head  t'  do  sech 
t'ings,  'cause  she's  a  Lanley.'  An'  she  give  in  an'  I 
went  in  he  place.  Hang  me,  seh!  I'se  been  up  an' 
down  yo'  lines,  a-cringin',  suffer  in'  ole  nigger,  mum- 
blin'  t'ings  t'  mek  yo'  Yankees  laugh  while  I  coun' 
yo'  rigimints.  Please  Gord,  dis  nigger  ain'  no  in- 
grate.  He  ain'  fightin'  ag'in  de  fo'ks  dat  bringed 
him  out  o'  savag'ry  into  respectumbility.  He  ain' 
'shamed !  Hang  me !" 

"I  can't  accommodate  you  there,  Marcus.  I 
sha'n't  even  arrest  you.  The  war's  nearly  over." 

"Over!  over!"  Marcus  leered  at  the  Vagabond 
and  laughed  uproariously.  "Yes,  seh,  dat  war's  been 
over  an'  over  an'  over  uver  sence  it  b'gun.  An'  when- 
uver  it's  over — tee  hee! — Marse  Robert  (General 
Lee)  he  jes'  wave  he  hand  an'  mo'  sowgers  come.  It 
wuz  over  at  Gettysburg — tee  hee !  I  see  Marse  Rob- 
ert when  he  come  ridin'  back  a-lookin'  like  he  hed 
won — al'ays  a-lookin'  like  he  hed  won !  'Fo'  de 
Lawd,  I  sez,  he  come  back  jes'  'cause  he  want  to. 
Over !  Not  s'  long's  we  have  Marse  Robert  a-lookin' 
so  cahm — no,  seh !" 

"Marcus!"  the  Vagabond  cried,  impetuously, 
"did  Miss  Lanley  ever  speak  of  me  ?" 

"No,  seh.  She  nuver  speak  o'  yo',  an'  dat  are  wuz 
jes'  what  mek  me  'spishun.  Yo'  'member  dat  piece  o' 
paper  yo'  gi'  me  arfter  she  looked  de  t'oughts  out  o' 
yo'  head  an'  de  wuds  out  o'  yo'  mouf  dat  day?  When 
she  read  it  she  turn  all  a  pinky  an'  red  an'  she  read 
ag'in,  an'  I  could  see  dat  paper  all  a-flutterin'  in  he 

386 


THE  VAGABOND 

hand,  an'  she  looked  'way  kinder  far  off  an'  proud, 
an'  den  she  sez  like  she  suddenly  'member  me,  'Dat's 
all,  Marcus,'  an'  I  lef  her  'lone,  seh,  a-sayin'  t'  myse'f 
dat  are  Yankee  sowger  has  a  way — he  has  a  way." 

He  nodded  obsequiously,  the  while  his  keen  old 
eyes  saw  that  the  Vagabond's  face  was  flushed  in  its 
turn  and  he,  too,  had  a  far-away  look. 

"Arfter  dat,  she  tek  t'  wearin'  a  locket  'round  he 
neck,  an'  ole  locket  ob  he  gran-mammy's,  an'  some- 
times I  see  her  a-sittin'  all  silent  playin'  wid  it  in 
her  fingahs  ez  ef  she  wuz  a-dreamin'  o'  t'ings  dat 
mout  be  but  mus'  nuver  be,  an'  ez  ef  dat  locket  hed 
de  whole  story  o'  dat  are  in  it.  When  he  house  bu'n 
she  grab  dat  locket  ez  ef  it  wuz  a  hot  coal  'g'inst  her 
breas' — I  nuver  see  her  in  sech  a  temper;  Marse 
Robert  hisse'f  would  have  quailed  befo'  her — an'  she 
frew  dat  locket  ez  fur  into  de  bresh  ez  she  could.  I 
pick  it  up,  an'  I'se  keepin'  it  tell  maybe  she  speak 
ob  it  ag'in;  dough  I'se  jes'  reck'nin'  she  nuver  will, 
seh,  'cause  ve'y  soon  I  heah  she  an'  Marse  Souf- 
bridge  engaged  fur  sho'.  Dey  ain'  married  yet — not 
yet,  please  de  Lawd.  Anyhow,  she  put  whatuver 
wuz  in  dat  locket  out  o'  he  life  furuver  an'  uver.  I 
ain'  nuver  opened  it,  no,  seh.  I  reckon  I  tipple  ole 
marster's  wine ;  I  reckon  I  like  t'  know  what's  gwine 
on  's  well  ez  any  body-sarvent;  but  a  op'nin'  dat  are 
wuz  too  much  like  a-gwine  into  de  young  missis' 
room  befo'  she  call  me.  But  once,  when  de  mule 
t'ink  he  wan'  t'  kyar  me  on  he  heels  'stid  o'  he  back, 
dat  locket  flew  op'n  an'  I  see  a  piece  o'  paper  wid 
some  little,  fine  man's  writin'  on  it  an'  I  closed  it 
right  up." 

He  drew  forth  the  treasure  from  his  pocket,  a 
387 


THE    VAGABOISTD 

heart-shaped  thing  of  gold  set  with  turquoise.  The 
Vagabond  took  it  from  his  yielding  fingers,  and, 
tempted  by  the  suggestion  that  Marcus's  information 
carried,  opened  it  and  found,  tightly  folded,  his  note 
— his  "I  shall  wait  I  I  shall  hope !" — whose  delicate 
receptacle  had  risen  and  fallen  on  her  breast  with 
thoughts  of  him  and  had  been  cast  away  for  any 
stranger  to  pick  up.  He  folded  the  paper  and  re- 
placed it. 

"I'll  keep  this !    I'll  keep  it !"  he  said,  determinedly. 

"Seh!  Dat  b'longs  t'  no  Yankee  sowger!  Dat 
b'longs  t'  de  Lanleys !" 

"I'll  keep  it,"  the  Vagabond  repeated.  "I've  no 
right  except  might,  and  might  I  cannot  now  resist. 
You'll  want  to  get  back  to  the  Confederate  lines,  I 
suppose.  How'll  you  manage  it  ?" 

"A  mule.  I  kin  al'ays  fin'  a  mule.  Dat's  whar 
a  nigger  shines.  White  men  hunt  an'  hunt  an'  nuver 
see  a  mule,  an'  nigger  go  out  whar  dey  been — an' 
dyah's  a  mule !  Dat  mule  been  a-waitin'  fur  dat  nig- 
ger all  de  time — yes,  seh.  I'll  fin'  a  mule,  seh,  or 
I'll  jes'  wait  hyah,  seh,  an'  de  Confed'rates  will  come 
t'  me.  Yo'  won'  tarry  long;  no,  seh.  Ole  house- 
bu'nin'  Sheridan's  gwine  t'  be  killed  an'  buried  right 
hyah  in  Firginia  mud — an'  dat's  too  good  fur  him. 
De  good  Lawd's  sent  dese  rains  t'  he'p  Marse  Robert. 
Yes,  seh,  when  de  good  Lawd  see  Marse  Robert  all 
a-ridin'  so  cahm,  he's  jes'  boun'  t'  he'p  Marse 
Robert!" 

The  old  servant's  last  words,  still  repeating  them- 
selves in  his  ears  after  he  had  mounted,  made  the 
Vagabond  see  the  cavalry  as  the  South  must  see 
them;  made  him  see  himself  as  she  must  see  him. 


THE   VAGABOOT3 

Only  that  morning  he  had  destroyed  a  grist-mill  with 
the  same  regret  that  the  President  felt  in  authorizing 
such  drastic  measures  to  make  war's  grim  reign  the 
shorter  and  peace  the  nearer.  He  had  veritably 
coaxed  himself  into  the  belief  that  the  Potomac 
would  be  as  narrow  as  it  was  in  the  beginning,  once 
the  conflict  was  over ;  that  when  the  sabre-blade  was 
draped  in  the  laurel-branch  the  struggle  would  mean 
no  more  to  a  Confederate  girl  and  a  Union  officer 
than  the  tiffs  of  courtship  to  the  happy  couple  on  the 
bridal  morn.  Her  own  house  was  in  ashes,  burned 
by  Union  hands.  If  she  had  heard  of  him  at  all  dur- 
ing their  separation  it  was  as  likely  in  connection 
with  some  raid  as  in  the  more  welcome  task  of  battle. 
The  picture  of  her  flight  from  him  as  a  scourge  had 
replaced,  for  the  thousandth  time,  the  sweet  one  that 
had  been  his  ship  of  stars.  Then  the  sound  of  shots 
ahead  made  him  forget  all  else,  as  he  gave  rein,  ex- 
cept that  he  was  a  captain  of  horse  on  a  scout. 


989 


XTJT 

A  RECOGNITION 

Long  since  used  to  the  various  situations  of  cav- 
alry warfare,  he  presumed  that  his  men  had  devel- 
oped the  enemy  as  they  were  sent  to  do,  and  were 
already  falling  back  in  due  course.  At  first  Breaker's 
struggling  steps  in  the  mud  drowned  the  muffled 
sound  of  a  mass  of  hoofs.  "When  he  did  hear  it,  there 
was  no  mistaking  that  throbbing,  rapid  tread  of  the 
gallop,  however  dim.  His  good  fellows  were  charg- 
ing. The  thrilling  zest  of  conflict  mounted  to  his 
head,  and  his  haste  was  imparted  to  his  steed.  He 
hoped  to  see  what  it  was  all  about  at  the  turn  of  the 
road ;  but  the  wind  blowing  away  from  him,  he  had 
no  appreciation  of  how  near  he  was  to  his  company, 
which  suddenly  sprang  into  view  in  tempestuous  re- 
treat. He  did  not  have  time  to  stop,  only  to  draw 
Breaker  to  one  side  while  the  Federals  swept  past,  be- 
spattering their  leader  with  mud. 

"Get  backl"  cried  Tim  Booker,  who  was  in  ad- 
vance. "We're  leading  these  Johnnies  into  camp!" 

Twenty  yards  behind,  in  bloodthirsty  pursuit, 
were  three  or  four  troops  of  Confederates,  discharg- 
ing carbines  and  revolvers  and  shouting.  Next,  the 
Vagabond  had  a  glimpse  of  Jimmy  Pool  at  the  rear 
of  his  column.  Before  Tim's  warning  was  fairly  out 
of  his  mouth  he  saw  Jimmy's  horse  stumble  and  fall, 

390 


THE    VAGABOND 

throwing  its  rider  fairly  into  the  path  of  five  hun- 
dred hoofs  which  no  power  could  arrest.  He  started 
toward  his  lieutenant,  thinking  that  with  his  body 
and  Breaker's  he  would  split  that  havoc  of  soldiery 
as  a  rock  splits  a  current,  and  thus  prevent  Jimmy 
from  being  trampled  to  death.  But  before  Breaker 
had  his  feet  out  of  the  slough  into  which  they  had 
sunk,  the  foam  from  the  front  rank  of  the  enemy's 
horse  was  thrown  into  his  face. 

However,  Jimmy  Pool  had  not  lost  his  wits;  he 
was  languid  in  off-times  only  to  insure  agility  for  su- 
preme moments.  Before  he  struck  earth  his  danger 
was  clear  to  him.  He  sprang  for  the  edge  of  the  em- 
banked road  as  if  sliding  for  second,  and  sabres 
dipped  toward  him  in  vain,  the  while  he  rolled  away 
in  the  mire.  There  they  were,  these  two  Yankees, 
just  out  of  reach  of  that  cataract  of  the  enemy's  horse 
and  no  more.  Undischarged  cartridges  were  in- 
stantly sent  after  the  Vagabond;  but  his  shoulder- 
straps  were  no  more  than  a  glint  of  braid  to  each 
passing  trooper,  his  materialization  so  sudden  and 
out  of  the  programme  that  the  call  to  shoot  him  from 
the  rest  of  a  plunging  saddle  was  as  bootless  as  to 
tell  a  man  to  reach  out  of  the  window  of  an  express 
train  and  catch  the  mail-bag  at  the  station  two  hun- 
dred yards  ahead. 

He  had  no  sooner  comprehended  Jimmy's  imme- 
diate safety  with  a  cry  of  delight  than  he  realized 
the  danger  of  their  being  left  with  one  horse  if  a 
dozen  Confederates  should  draw  rein  and  return  for 
the  goodly  prize  of  a  brace  of  Federal  officers.  The 
whistling  of  the  wildly  aimed  bullets  fired  at  his  own 
head  gave  him  the  inspiration  he  needed.  He  had  a 

391 


THE    VAGABOND 

steady  position,  and  lie  ought  to  get  his  man,  he 
thought,  as  he  drew  his  revolver  and  fired  at  the  last 
trooper  in  the  line,  who  dropped  out  of  his  saddle. 
Clinging  to  his  reins,  the  shock  of  his  dead  weight 
brought  his  horse  to  a  stand-still. 

"There's  a  mount  for  you,  Jimmy!"  the  Vaga- 
bond called. 

"I'm  damned  if  there  is !"  responded  the  Confed- 
erate, as  he  raised  himself  with  an  effort.  He  drove 
his  sabre  in  the  sweating  neck,  and  his  faithful  ally's 
blood  joined  his  own.  "They'll  come  back  and  pick 
you  up,"  he  added,  faintly. 

Both  of  the  Federals  were  watching  the  column, 
which  went  on  in  the  enthusiasm  of  the  charge  with 
no  more  idea  of  stopping,  as  yet,  than  a  hound  on  the 
scent  of  a  fox  stops  for  a  rabbit.  As  they  turned 
toward  the  wounded  man,  the  rain  began  to  fall  again. 

"That's  good,"  said  the  Confederate.  "It'll  swell 
the  river  so  you  house-burners  can't  get  across !" 

He  died,  smiling  triumphantly,  his  head  resting 
on  the  shoulder  of  his  dead  steed.  The  Vagabond 
pressed  his  eyelids  shut  respectfully  and  admiringly. 

"House-burners!  It's  the  right  term.  That's 
what  we  are,"  said  the  Vagabond,  absently. 

"We  sha'n't  have  the  chance  to  burn  any  more 
houses  unless  we  get  out  of  here  pretty  quick," 
Jimmy  added.  "No  horse  can  carry  two  across  those 
fields,  and  that's  how  we'll  have  to  go.  I  can  hoof 
it;  in  fact,  I'd  rather."  For  the  first  time  he  started 
to  rise,  and,  swaying,  caught  himself  by  putting  his 
hand  on  his  Captain's  shoulder.  "Turned  my  foot, 
I  guess,"  he  said.  When  he  tried  to  touch  it  to  the 
ground,  his  face  twitched  with  pain.  "Nonsense!" 

392 


THE  VAGABOND 

he  exclaimed.  "I  must  have  used  it  to  get  out  of 
their  way."  He  put  it  to  the  ground  again,  and  re- 
strained a  groan  with  set  lips. 

"Your  ankle  is  sprained,  and  there  is  an  end  of 
it,"  said  the  Vagabond. 

"I  guess  it  is,  seeing  that  the  danger  isn't  so  im- 
minent as  it  was  a  minute  ago,"  was  the  dry  response. 

Thereupon,  the  Vagabond  picked  up  his  slight 
lieutenant  bodily,  and  with  all  the  gentleness  pos- 
sible set  him  astride  Breaker. 

"He'll  take  you  safe  ashore.  Come,  there's  no 
time  to  lose" — this  last  was  spoken  in  view  of  a  line 
of  infantry  that  appeared  in  the  distance  marching 
from  the  South,  evidently  to  support  the  cavalry — 
"and  no  protests.  You  said  yourself  that  the  horse 
couldn't  carry  two.  I'll  have  the  easiest  end  of  it 
walking.  All  I've  got  to  do  is  to  keep  out  of  sight. 
There's  this  blessing  about  the  rain  and  mud,  no- 
body but  a  fugitive  will  think  of  getting  off  the  road 
without  an  object.  General  Grant,  if  he  has  the 
strength,  could  walk  back  to  our  lines  in  as  great 
safety  as  he  could  go  along  the  works  at  Petersburg." 

They  passed  over  the  highway,  Breaker  flounder- 
ing, with  the  steam  rising  from  his  rain-drenched 
flanks.  The  Vagabond,  picking  his  way  behind 
them,  stopped  when  they  came  to  the  cover  of  a 
scrubby  patch  of  second  growth,  fringed  by  willows 
that  had  grown  over  a  rail-fence  long  since  gone  to 
make  camp-fires. 

"Look  here !    Aren't  you  coming  ?"  Jimmy  called. 

"'No.  I'm  going  to  have  a  look  at  the  Confederate 
infantry  on  the  march  to  see  if  they  like  the  rain  and 
mud  as  well  as  we  do." 

393 


THE    VAGABOND 

"What  did  you  say  about  no  time  to  lose?  It's 
not  the  General's  intention  to  make  a  stand  here. 
The  thing  for  us  is  to  catch  up  with  our  forces." 

"Orders,  Lieutenant!"  called  the  Vagabond. 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  response,  with  a  stiff  salute; 
and  your  regular  rode  on,  not  once  looking  back. 

The  Vagabond  shook  the  water  off  his  cap  and 
waited  for  the  approach  of  the  infantry,  a  bedrizzled 
line  in  ragged  gray  or  ragged  brown  or  ragged  any- 
thing that  would  cover  a  soldier's  nakedness.  They 
carried  their  rifles  at  whatever  shift  was  easiest  for 
the  shoulders  of  fifty  beside  those  of  eighteen,  in  the 
gleaning  of  all  the  manhood  that  a  people  had  left 
to  make  the  loss  of  a  cause  magnificent.  For  they 
knew!  they  knew!  They  had  known  ever  since  At- 
lanta had  fallen,  and  from  impossibilities  they  had 
drawn  the  charm  of  a  bold  front  to  despair.  They 
marched  in  step  from  sympathy  rather  than  from 
military  formula,  with  swinging,  slouching  grace, 
looking  as  if  they  were  going  to  kill  or  be  killed  and 
little  caring  which,  so  it  was  done  in  honor  to  their 
sovereign  State,  their  sovereign  town,  their  sovereign 
family,  their  sovereign  selves,  and  a  sovereign  prin- 
ciple of  disintegration  which  must  eventually  be  its 
own  destruction.  As  they  passed  they  gave  heat  to 
their  drenched  bodies,  they  lessened  the  depth  of  the 
clammy  mud,  with  gibes,  one  of  which  was  to  the 
effect  that  considering  the  outpour  from  the  skies 
anybody  who  went  above,  that  afternoon,  ought  to  be 
grateful,  for  he  would  have  a  dry  bed. 

An  unusually  lanky  man  of  a  rear  rank,  like  the 
waggling  tail  of  which  his  company  was  the  body, 
seesawed  to  the  side  of  the  road,  more  by  impulse 

394 


THE  VAGABOND 

than  by  prearrangement.  Some  of  his  comrades 
called  him  a  skunk,  without  qualifications;  others 
wondered  how  any  one  human  being  could  find  in 
those  times  enough  whiskey  to  drown  his  sorrows; 
and  still  others  dilated  on  the  awful  selfishness  of  the 
man  who  would  not  pass  his  canteen  when  the  very 
earth  around  him  was  shaking  with  the  chills  of  his 
fellow-sufferers.  In  niggardly  fear  of  having  it 
appropriated  then  and  there,  the  culprit  put  the 
rusty  nozzle  to  his  lips  and  drained  the  remainder  of 
that  native  product  of  corn  so  amazingly  effective  in 
ratio  to  its  quantity.  Whereupon,  he  cried  "Hoo- 
ray!" on  principle,  and  lying  down  in  the  mud,  with 
big  drops  of  rain  trickling  off  the  end  of  his  nose, 
remarked  on  the  softness  of  the  feather-ticks  in  this 
hotel,  though  the  roof  did  seem  a  little  leaky.  There 
he  lay,  while  more  infantry  and  guns  and  still  more 
infantry  went  by ;  and  then,  as  far  as  one  could  see, 
there  was  no  sign  of  a  human  being. 

The  Vagabond  pondered  on  how  much  the  fellow 
knew  of  things  that  interested  Sheridan,  and  now  he 
approached,  only  to  find  him  quite  too  full  for  utter- 
ance. Looking  down  the  road  he  saw  that  some  of 
the  infantry  were  already  returning  from  their  use- 
less sortie.  This  advancing  patch  on  the  ribbon  of 
mud  brought  him  another  idea,  as  irresistible  as  it 
was  dangerous.  He  picked  the  Confederate  up  and 
carried  him  behind  the  bushes,  his  load  becoming 
animate  enough  to  remark  that  it  was  pleasant  to 
ride  in  a  spring-wagon  after  having  marched  so 
much.  Whipping  off  his  own  sopping  uniform,  by 
dint  of  arduous  care,  which  did  not  awaken  the  pa- 
tient to  a  sense  of  the  transformation,  he  removed 

395 


THE  VAGABOND 

the  tattered  garb  of  his  accomplice,  whose  rifle  he 
threw  across  his  own  shoulder.  Then  he  buckled  on 
his  own  sabre,  which  he  would  no  more  have  left  be- 
hind than  a  lady  her  jewel-case.  Except  for  this  tell- 
tale, as  he  walked  into  the  road  with  his  shoulders 
thrown  forward  and  otherwise  simulating  his  new 
character,  he  was  a  private  of  the  Confederacy.  But 
first  he  made  sure  that  he  was  not  presenting  him- 
self to  the  drunken  man's  own  regiment. 

There  was  no  sign  in  the  faces  of  the  approaching 
veterans  of  any  ill  feeling  on  account  of  the  folly 
which  sent  old  soldiers  on  a  fool's  errand.  They 
had  learned  the  great  lesson  that  there  are  a  hundred 
march  outs  to  one  battle.  They  were  making  their 
legs  go,  and  not  wasting  energy  in  complaints.  They 
took  the  Vagabond  for  a  straggler,  and  began  to  pass 
remarks  about  the  poor  infant's  stomachache  or  his 
headache  or  the  length  of  his  mamma's  apron- 
strings,  when  a  sharp-eyed  fellow,  who  looked  and 
thought  before  he  spoke,  recognizing  the  belt  with 
the  brass  plate  stamped  U.  S.  A.  and  the  Union  of- 
ficer's sabre,  changed  gibe  into  curiosity.  The  new 
private  was  prepared  for  the  question  with  a  South- 
ern drawl: 

"Yes.  Knocked  that  Yankee  clean  out  of  his  sad- 
dle. That's  why  I'm  here.  Think  it  was  worth 
dropping  out  of  ranks  for,  don't  you  ?  Taste  this !" 
He  offered  the  drunken  man's  canteen,  which  con- 
tained the  contents  of  his  own  flask.  "Pass  it  around 
and  take  a  sip  apiece." 

"Yes,  a  sip!"  echoed  along  the  line  of  tongues  as 
dry  as  the  road  was  wet  in  those  days  when  the  tee- 
totalejs  on  either  side  were  as  rare  as  square  meals. 

396 


THE    VAGABOND 

It  was  amazing  how  few  sips  it  took  to  find  the  bot- 
tom. Those  who  got  none  wet  their  lips  with  the 
tips  of  their  tongues,  growled  at  luck,  and  accepted 
the  fortunes  of  war  with  becoming  fatalism.  An 
old  man,  with  the  moth-patches  already  forming 
around  his  eyes,  stepped  out  of  the  ranks  and  tapped 
the  Vagabond  on  the  shoulder  with  a  shaking 
forefinger. 

"Comrade,  there  wasn't  any  coffee  on  that  Yank  ? 
Coffee !"  he  repeated.  "Roasted  peas !  Roasted  peas 
and  swill !  When  you  reach  my  age  you  can't  stom- 
ach it.  For  one  good  drink  of  coffee — I  know  men 
that's  deserted  for  that,"  and  he  fell  back  into  the 
steady,  monotonous  step  with  the  check  of  the  regret- 
ful negative. 

As  the  Vagabond  regarded  him,  he  understood  as 
he  had  not  before  the  admirable  fortitude  of  a  peo- 
ple who  would  rob  the  cradle  and  the  grave  in  the 
name  of  their  pride.  The  South  was  not  a  "quitter." 

"Coffee !  Ma's  coffee !  I  kin  'member  what  it  was 
'fo'  the  war,"  drawled  a  boy  of  seventeen.  "Coffee !" 

"Didn't  you  get  his  saddle  or  anything  ?  Jest  his 
sabre?"  asked  another. 

"Didn't  he  have  a  watch?  Wasn't  his  boots  bet- 
ter'n  yours  ?"  from  an  avaricious  fellow,  who  had 
learned  to  make  the  most  of  war's  personal  opportu- 
nities. 

Ready  invention  is  often  more  serviceable  than 
truth  when  the  truth  is  awkward,  and  ready  inven- 
tion the  Vagabond  possessed  fruitfully,  if  not  as  ex- 
pansively as  Timothy  Booker. 

"Pipped  him  off  his  horse  and  his  horse  ran  away 
with  the  saddle.  .There's  his  watch,"  he  drew  his 


THE  VAGABOND 

own  from  his  pocket,  "and  there's  his  boots,"  with' 
a  glance  toward  his  feet. 

"He  didn't  have  any  underclothes  on  ?  !N"awthin* 
to  keep  old  bones  warm  ?"  asked  the  old  man. 

The  Vagabond  showed  his  own  garment  of  wool. 

"Brandy  and  wool!  They  ain't  got  no  blockade 
over  there !  Brandy  and  wool !  How  can  we  fight 
that?  Fight  it  we  will!  Fight  it  we  will,  though 
we  live  on  roots  and  grubs  and  fleas!  Alabama's 
still  a  sovereign  State — still — a — sovereign — State, 
by  God  1  That's  what  I  always  say  to  chirk  me  up 
when  I  feel  just  as  if  I'd  walk  over  to  the  Yanks  and 
sell  my  soul  for  a  full  belly !" 

The  Vagabond  launched  into  an  elaborate  tale  of 
how  he  had  taken  his  prisoner,  and  when  his  new- 
found companions  were  in  good  humor  he  turned  to 
the  object  of  his  disguise.  He  reckoned  that  as  soon 
as  spring  came  and  the  boys  on  leave  got  back  to  their 
regiments,  the  Confederates  would  drive  the  Fed- 
erals back  to  Washington.  He  reckoned  that  there 
must  be  forty  thousand  men  in  Lynchburg.  A  chorus 
wanted  to  know  who  had  been  coddling  him  with  that 
yarn.  Their  consensus  of  opinion  of  five  thousand 
was  the  information  he  wanted.  His  optimism  in 
nowise  dimmed,  he  said  he  had  heard  that  there  were 
fifty  guns  in  Lynchburg. 

"Fifty!"  came  a  guffawing  answer,  "fifty! 
There's  fifteen — old-timers.  Uncle  Robert's  got  all 
the  good  ones  with  him.  Because  you've  taken  a 
prisoner  you  seem  to  think  that  we're  as  strong  as  we 
was  at  Gettysburg.  When  you  get  over  the  effects 
of  that  Yank's  brandy  you'll  divide  by  four,  sonny." 

"If  you  fellows  keep  on  you'll  make  me  desert," 
398 


THE    VAGABOND 

the  Vagabond  concluded.  "I'll  just  drop  out  and 
wait  for  my  company.  Don't  want  to  get  separated 
from  them.  They're  going  to  camp  in  the  White 
House  grounds  to-night."  After  the  laughter  had 
subsided  he  added:  "A  little  imagination  helps  a 
man  to  keep  up  his  spirits;"  and  they  called  back 
their  good  wishes  over  their  shoulders  to  the  wag  who 
had  enlivened  the  dull  ordeal  of  their  shivering,  be- 
draggled march,  while  he  lifted  his  remnant  of  a  hat 
in  profound  dignity  and  responded,  with  the  wind- 
driven  drops  pattering  on  his  face,  that  if  there  was 
anything  in  the  world  he  hated  it  was  a  drought  like 
that  which  then  prevailed  in  Virginia. 

Leaning  on  his  rifle,  he  settled  himself  to  wait 
long  enough  to  give  verisimilitude  to  his  excuse, 
when  he  intended  to  hasten  back  to  his  drunken  alter 
ego.  Looking  away  from  the  direction  of  its  com- 
ing, he  was  not  aware  until  he  heard  its  steps  of 
the  approach  of  a  horse.  He  turned  to  see  Volilla 
coming  toward  him  not  fifty  yards  away.  In  this 
crisis  he  thought  first  of  stepping  back  a  few  feet  and 
facing  about.  Even  that  was  unnecessary,  he  told 
himself.  If  he  merely  hung  his  head  she  would  not 
mistake  him  for  any  other  than  a  ragged  foot-soldier 
who  had  dropped  out  of  the  ranks  to  rest. 

But  if  she  should  recognize  him!  If  she  should 
recognize  him  in  the  garb  of  a  spy,  what  would  she 
say  and  do?  How  had  that  face  of  his  dreams 
changed  in  four  years?  Eolly,  being  as  intent  on 
picking  his  way  in  the  least  muddy  places  as  if  he 
wore  a  skirt  and  slippers,  now  took  the  Vagabond's 
side  of  the  road.  The  Vagabond  realized  the  risk  of 
discovery  to  himself  and  the  embarrassment  of  it  to 

399 


THE  VAGABOND 

her;  but  desire  to  see  her  shattering  all  discretion,  he 
lifted  his  cap  and  looked  straight  at  her. 

"You!"  she  said,  in  a  stifled  cry. 

That  old  word  she  had  used  so  often  when  cir- 
cumstances brought  them  abruptly  together.  "You  1" 
He  liked  her  to  say  that.  It  singled  him  out  from 
the  rest  of  the  world  in  her  comprehension.  It  was 
a  distinction  that  he  welcomed  with  his  smile  of 
jaunty  confidence,  which  made  all  dangers  reflected 
as  happiness  in  the  mirror  of  her  nearness.  Each 
line  from  eyebrow  to  chin  he  lingered  on  in  lov- 
ing comparison  with  that  of  four  years  ago.  She 
was  grown  older  and  more  mature;  the  tan  of  ex- 
posure was  on  her  cheek;  her  expression  had  been 
chastened  into  a  greater  nobility  by  the  sufferings  of 
her  people ;  and,  withal,  time  had  revealed  the  inner 
grandeur  of  her  nature,  even  as  Richard  Bulwer  had 
prophesied.  It  was  as  natural  for  him  to  be  silent 
in  her  presence  as  for  a  subject  before  his  throne. 

"You  again !"  She  dwelt  on  the  second  word  with 
clinging  familiarity,  the  while  she  realized  the  mo- 
mentous fact  that  his  life  depended  on  her  nod. 

"Yes.  I  didn't  come  to  see  you  this  time,"  he 
added.  "I  promised  myself  the  hardihood  to  wait 
until  the  war  was  over." 

Foolish  words!  They  put  a  taunting  tongue  to 
the  nature  of  his  mission  evident  from  his  garb. 
They  said  to  her:  "Your  heart  will  not  let  you  di- 
vulge my  secret,  now,  will  it,  after  all  ?"  Under  the 
spell  of  them,  her  reply  was  as  cold  and  sharp  as  the 
rapier-point  of  her  sudden  determination. 

"You  come  to  learn  if  we  are  weak  enough  to  let 
your  house-burners  destroy  Lynchburg!  I  will  tell 
our  Colonel  where  to  find  a  spy !" 

400 


XLIH 

WHICH   HAS    LIMITS  i 

He  bowed,  yet  not  so  low  that  she  had  not  a  view 
of  his  laughing  eyes,  which  made  the  sign  of  a  cul- 
prit's mock  confession  as  his  parting  message.  Well 
he  knew  that  his  capture  meant  that  he  would  be 
hanged.  Not  bravado,  not  contempt  for  death — life 
being  as  dear  to  him  as  the  interest  and  excitement 
of  promised  achievement  can  make  it — rather  the 
fascination  of  the  situation  held  him  in  his  tracks 
while  he  saw  her  accost  the  foremost  officer  of  an  ap- 
proaching group. 

Something  in  the  Colonel's  attitude  told  the  lone 
figure,  with  his  head  thrown  back  as  if  welcoming 
the  rain  in  sheer,  unrestrained  physical  exuberance, 
that  she  had  indeed  kept  her  word.  There  was  yet 
time  for  him  to  make  a  good  fight  for  escape  by 
plunging  into  the  swamp,  where  a  horse  could  go 
little  faster  than  a  man,  to  say  nothing  of  the  fact 
that  he  had  a  rifle  against  the  revolvers  of  the  offi- 
cers. Still  he  tarried,  with  the  helpless  intoxication 
of  one  who  cannot  resist  a  denouement.  Would  she 
remain  steadfast  to  her  threat  when  it  came  to  the 
very  performance  of  it?  Was  there  no  answering 
love  for  him,  was  there  not  at  least  the  pull  of  asso- 
ciation deep  under  the  crust  of  factional  strife  ?  If 
there  was,  it  would  stay  her  at  the  critical  moment, 

401 


THE  VAGABOND 

he  thought  dimly,  as  he  looked  toward  the  soggy 
fields.  He  felt,  if  he  did  not  see,  the  cavalcade  grow- 
ing nearer.  When  they  were  close,  the  Colonel  and 
Volilla  leading,  he  looked  up  and  saluted  the  one, 
while  he  smiled  at  the  other.  Her  face  was  stern. 

"Deliver  up  that  rifle,  my  fine  sir!"  the  Colonel 
said,  whipping  out  his  revolver  suddenly. 

The  Vagabond  complied  pleasantly.  It  did  not 
matter  so  much  that  his  doom  was  sealed  as  that  she 
had  sealed  it.  He  was  spellbound  by  her  deed  rather 
than  by  his  own  fate. 

"And  you  had  the  audacity  to  keep  your  sabre, 
too !"  the  Colonel  stormed,  at  sight  of  the  U.  S.  A. 
on  the  belt  and  the  very  contempt  for  Confederate 
acumen  that  it  seemed  to  imply. 

The  Vagabond  felt  his  hand  going  to  his  hilt  in 
further  compliance;  he  realized  that  he  was  still 
smiling  in  set  intensity;  he  knew  that  he  was  going 
to  sell  his  life  as  dearly  as  he  could,  and  that  end 
would  be  best  served  by  bringing  the  blade  out  of  its 
scabbard  in  the  begrudging  languor  that  seems  to  ac- 
cept the  inevitable,  belying  its  contemplated  flash 
into  action  with  the  energy  of  despair.  His  plan 
needed  only  the  confidence  of  boyhood  and  rare  cool- 
ness. However  much  manhood  had  taught  him  about 
other  things,  it  could  teach  him  nothing  in  this.  The 
quality  of  lightning  thought  and  lightning  execution 
and  clear  perception  in  a  crisis  were  born  in  him 
along  with  his  sentiment.  He  could  feel  his  toes 
shucking  in  his  wet  boots  as  he  raised  himself  on 
them  and  measured  the  lunge  to  the  Colonel's  heart, 
and  counted  on  the  fury  of  his  overhead  slashes  until 
the  staff  brought  him  down.  Then,  as  the  sabre 

402 


THE  VAGABOND 

cleared  its  peaceful  threshold,  her  voice  broke  on  his 
ear  as  from  a  great  distance: 

"Colonel,  please  ask  the  prisoner  to  take  off  his 
cap." 

This  he  did  mechanically,  still  holding  fast  to  his 
sabre,  while  he  saw  that  she  was  scrutinizing  him 
with  seemingly  disinterested  curiosity.  Her  ruse, 
too,  was  worthy  of  her.  It  showed,  besides,  how 
worthy  she  was  of  him. 

"I  was  mistaken,  Colonel,"  she  said,  in  the  same 
matter-of-fact  manner.  "The  resemblance  is  remark- 
able, though." 

The  Colonel's  expression  changed  as  suddenly  as 
that  of  a  fisherman  when  his  trout  breaks  away  from 
the  hook. 

"What  regiment  do  you  belong  to — you  strag- 
gler?" 

"First  Georgy,  sir." 

"What  the  devil  are  you  doing  here  ?  Where  did 
you  get  that  Yankee  sabre?" 

The  Vagabond,  with  the  proper  respect  and  yet  the 
proper  nonchalance  of  the  man  who  is  perfectly  sure 
of  the  unimpeachability  of  his  conduct,  related  how 
he  had  pipped  that  Yankee  officer  out  of  his  saddle. 

"Didn't  you  find  any  papers  on  him  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

The  Colonel  was  a"  suspicious  man  by  nature,  of 
the  kind  who  would  not  be  sure  that  there  were  only 
slugs  under  a  stone  until  he  had  lifted  it. 

"Show  me  the  way  to  him !"  he  cried. 

Against  this  new  turn  of  affairs  there  was  nothing 
that  Volilla  could  do  or  say,  even  if  she  had  been  of 
the  mind. 

403 


THE    VAGABOND 

"It's  a  good  piece,  Colonel,"  said  the  Vagabond,  as 
solicitously  as  a  well-meaning  private  could. 

"Probably  seems  a  good  piece  to  you.  Come  along. 
Miss  Lanley" — the  Colonel  lifted  his  cap  with  a 
flourish — "I  am  as  glad  for  your  own  sake  as  for  our 
men's  that  there  are  no  wounded,"  and  she  rode  away 
toward  the  South. 

On  his  part,  the  Vagabond  had  only  the  view  of 
her  back,  and  the  mighty  happiness  over  her  weaken- 
ing when  the  vital  test  came  disappeared  in  his  new 
difficulty.  One  plan  after  another  for  ridding  him- 
self of  the  Colonel  was  dismissed,  until  he  thought  of 
this.  When  they  should  come  to  a  tree  he  would  jump 
behind  it  and  with  his  rifle  pay  this  party  armed  only 
with  revolvers  and  sabres  for  the  trouble  they  had 
made  him.  But,  unfortunately,  the  prime  adjunct  at 
that  moment  lay  across  the  saddle-horn  of  the  Col- 
onel's aide. 

"I'll  take  that  spitfire  of  mine  if  you  say,  sir/'  he 
said,  advancing  toward  it. 

"Never  mind;  you've  got  to  walk,"  said  the  Col- 
onel, quashing  the  hope  of  escape  with  his  considera- 
tion for  a  weary  private. 

"Yes,  sir."   ' 

When  he  started  across  the  fields,  it  was  with  the 
determination  of  giving  the  Colonel  and  his  staff 
their  money's  worth.  With  their  horses  floundering 
behind  him,  he  was  not  in  the  least  oblivious  of  the 
humor  of  the  situation.  His  one  chance  was  to  lead 
the  Colonel  on  until  they  should  be  rushed  by  his  own 
men,  who  were  doubtless  keeping  close  to  the  Con- 
federates in  the  same  exasperating  way  that  the  Col- 
onel was  keeping  close  to  him.  He  went  as  fast  as 

404 


THE    VAGABOND 

he  could  without  running,  and,  finding  a  ridge  of 
higher  ground  where  the  going  was  better,  he 
made  their  horses  fall  into  a  trot  to  keep  up  with 
him. 

"About  how  much  farther  is  it?"  demanded  the 
Colonel,  finally. 

"I  can't  say  just.  It's  right  over  there  some  piece." 
The  Vagabond  pointed  straight  ahead. 

"That's  just  where  you  pointed  before." 

"Yes,  sir.  I  tried  to  bring  you  in  a  straight  line 
so  as  to  save  distance." 

"Is  it  beyond  those  trees  there,  or  this  side  of 
'em?" 

"A  little  beyond,  sir." 

"What  kind  of  soldiers  do  you  breed  in  Georgia, 
anyway  ?  That's  farther  than  our  forces  have  been. 
How  could  you  get  that  distance  from  your  regiment? 
Are  you  a  separate  command?" 

The  Vagabond  had  expected  this  inquiry  long  be- 
fore, but  the  Colonel  was  rather  stupid  as  well  as 
tenacious. 

"As  I  was  telling  you,  sir,  I'm  considered  pretty 
slick  at  dodging  in  and  out,  and  they  put  me  on  the 
flank  by  my  lonesome,  to  see  what  I  could  see.  I 
seen  this  Yank  a  good  distance  away  tie  his  horse  to 
a  tree  and  sneak  up  on  foot,  and  I  tried  to  get  be- 
tween him  and  his  horse  and  couldn't ;  but  I  brought 
him  down  after  he  was  in  the  saddle.  It  ain't  much 
farther;  fifteen  minutes'  walk,  Colonel." 

"Fifteen  for  those  legs  of  yours  ?" 

"Yes,  sir ;  these  legs  of  mine  can  work  up  a  power- 
ful lot  of  motion  on  a  bacon-rind  and  a  hoe-eake.  I 
reckon  if  this  war  lasts  much  longer  I  can  get  a 

405 


THE  VAGABOND 

square  meal  by  running  a  rind  back  and  forth  under 
my  nose." 

This  brought  the  laugh  which  the  Vagabond 
craved. 

"With  such  soldiers,"  the  Colonel  declared  to  his 
aide,  "the  blue-bellies  will  never  whip  us." 

"If  you'd  like,"  the  Vagabond  added,  "you  can 
wait  here,  sir,  and  I'll  run  on  ahead  and  look  the 
body  over  again  to  see  if  there  are  any  papers." 

Given  that  much  lead,  he  was  certain  that  he 
could  escape.  Alas,  the  Colonel's  good-humor  only 
gave  him  an  idea  for  winning  his  General's  praise. 
He  concluded  to  ride  on,  thinking  that  he  might 
come  in  contact  with  the  enemy  and  gain  information, 
though  he  found  nothing  valuable  on  the  Yankee  of- 
ficer. Directly,  there  appeared  on  the  edge  of  the 
woods,  which  was  their  objective,  a  line  of  horsemen, 
not  more  than  four  or  five  hundred  yards  away.  The 
Vagabond  recognized  them  instantly  as  his  own  men. 

"About  a  troop,  I  should  say,"  observed  the  Col- 
onel, looking  through  his  glasses. 

For  the  Vagabond  there  was  safety  and  honor  and 
command  within  sight — if! 

"If  the  Lieutenant  there  will  just  let  me  have  that 
little  pet  of  mine  I  reckon  I  can  tally  one  over  there," 
he  suggested  to  the  Colonel. 

"You'll  bring  'em  all  down  on  us" — which  was 
precisely  what  the  Vagabond  wanted.  "No,  we'll  be 
going  back." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  Vagabonds  began  a  circling 
movement  toward  the  West,  as  if  they  were  bound 
for  the  flank  of  the  Confederates,  while  their  Cap- 
tain, in  his  sadly  bedraggled  Confederate  gray,  knew 

406 


THE    VAGABOND 

that  they  were  seeking  him,  and  was  helpless  to  give 
them  that  word  which  would  have  left  the  man  on 
foot  to  their  gentle  mercy  while  the  officers  fled  to 
save  themselves. 

"Colonel,  the  way  we  came  I  reckon  is  best  for  the 
horses,  hut  I  can  cut  across  there  to  the  road  on  foot, 
if  you  don't  mind." 

"We'll  all  cut  across.  Young  man,  you're  pretty 
clever,  but  you  make  too  d —  many  suggestions,"  the 
Colonel  concluded.  "Step  along  lively  there  and  obey 
orders !" 

The  Vagabond  began  to  realize  that  he  was  tired ; 
the  mud  seemed  much  deeper  than  it  was  when  he 
was  approaching  his  own  lines.  His  chance  of  es- 
cape was  now  entirely  embraced  in  the  length  of  time 
that  a  drunken  torpor  should  last.  The  rain  and  the 
moist,  cold  bed  of  mud  must  soon  bring,  if  it  had  not 
already,  that  private  to  a  sense  of  his  position,  when, 
crying  his  wrongs  as  he  went,  he  would  start  in 
search  of  the  man  who  had  betrayed  his  identity. 
They  found  the  road  vacant,  all  the  troops  that  had 
gone  out  in  the  sortie  apparently  having  returned  to 
the  garrison  town.  As  they  approached  the  two  dead 
horses  and  the  dead  Confederate  soldier  whose  sad- 
dle the  Vagabond  had  emptied  for  Jimmy's  sake,  the 
Colonel's  maledictions  on  the  heads  of  their  Yankee 
murderers  were  interrupted  by  a  howl  of  "Murder! 
Thieves!  Doctor!  Doctor!" 

The  horsemen  stopped ;  but  before  they  could  seek 
the  source  of  the  outcry  the  tipsy  private,  a  club  in 
his  hand,  his  bloodshot  eyes  popping  and  his  face  ex- 
pressing ghastly  perplexity  and  resentment  of  foul 
wrong,  sprang  out  of  the  bushes.  He  halted  at  sight 

407 


THE    VAGABOND 

of  the  Vagabond  as  if  he  had  seen  ghosts.  He  did  not 
recognize  the  man,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the 
identity  of  his  own  ragged  coat. 

"I  know  that  patch !"  he  cried,  wildly.  "He  did 
it !  He  did  it !  While  I  fainted  he  took  my  clothes 
and  left  these !  He  is  a  Yankee !  a  Yankee !  Look 
at  his  sabre !  Look  at  his  belt !" 

"Well,  you've  got  'em  again,  Bill,"  said  the  Vaga- 
bond. "You  would  have  that  officer's  brandy  all  to 
yourself  when  you  were  already  full  up  with  the 
corn  whiskey  you  had  taken  away  from  that  poor  old 
woman.  Of  course,  you  don't  remember  now  how 
mean  you  acted  about  it." 

"Bill"  simply  looked  and  gasped  on  hearing  this. 
He  wondered  if  it  were  true.  He  was  not  certain  of 
anything  since  he  drank  that  corn  whiskey. 

"You  see,  Colonel,"  the  Vagabond  went  on,  glibly, 
"I  didn't  tell  you  about  Bill's  share  in  taking  that 
Yankee,  'cause  I  didn't  want  you  to  see  the  shape 
Bill's  in.  He  grabbed  the  brandy-flask  and  the 
clothes,  too,  and  I  let  him  have  'em  to  humor  him. 
All  I  wanted  was  the  sabre — that's  the  real  trophy, 
sir." 

Having  directed  himself  entirely  to  the  Colonel, 
he  did  not  observe  "Bill,"  who  had  recalled  definitely 
that  he  had  not  taken  any  bottle  from  a  poor  old 
woman.  This  gave  Bill  strength  and  assurance ;  his 
injured  virtue  rose  into  a  maudlin  rage.  Before  any- 
one realized  his  intention,  he  had  brought  the  Vaga- 
bond to  earth  with  a  quick  blow  from  the  rear. 


408 


XLIV 

TO   BISK   IS   TO   PAY 

The  next  that  the  Vagabond  knew,  someone  was 
fingering  about  his  throat  and  saying: 

"I  reckon  no  Georgia  private  is  wearing  as  fine 
undershirts  as  that  these  days.  W.  W.,  eh?  Won- 
der what  those  initials  stand  for?" 

It  did  not  take  long  to  ascertain  from  papers  in 
his  pocket  that  they  stood  for  William  Williams, 
whose  name  and  importance  were  not  unknown  to  the 
officers  present.  The  prisoner,  with  growing  con- 
sciousness, tried  to  move,  and  found  that  his  wrists 
had  been  tied. 

"It  is  a  great  compliment  to  me,  sir,  that  five 
armed  Confederates  are  afraid  of  my  two  poor 
hands,"  he  said. 

"Nothing  but  the  usual  treatment  of  a  spy,"  was 
the  reply. 

"You  mean  of  a  commissioned  officer  taken  in 
action."  This  claim  was  so  fragile  that  he  made  it 
all  the  more  boldly. 

"Of  a  man  disguised  in  our  uniform,  who  will  be 
shot  as  a  spy,  or  hung — more  likely  hung."  The  Col- 
onel's cheeks  were  still  stinging  with  resentment  at 
the  way  he  had  been  tricked. 

"Yes,  disguised  on  the  moment  and  still  retaining 
his  sabre,  and,  therefore,  entirely  within  his  rights." 

409 


THE  VAGABOND 

"When  it  is  a  matter  of  gallantry  to  an  enemy," 
the  Colonel  went  on,  "I  yield  to  no  man.  To  you, 
sir — rise  and  move  on !" 

Placed  between  the  Colonel  and  one  of  his  aides, 
with  the  private,  his  rifle  in  hand,  watching  him  a  lit- 
tle to  the  rear,  the  prisoner  kept  pace  with  his  captors. 

"Thought  you  could  pick  off  one  of  those  Yankee 
horsemen  if  I'd  let  you  have  your  rifle ;  thought  you'd 
get  to  your  company  quicker  if  we  separated,  did 
you  ?"  growled  the  Colonel,  after  a  time,  in  doubt 
whether  to  consider  the  capture  as  a  compliment  to 
himself  or  quite  the  contrary.  "Going  to  lead  me  to 
the  corpse  of  that  Yankee  officer,  weren't  you?" 

"Well,  Colonel,  since  I'm  the  officer,"  was  the  smil- 
ing response,  "and  since  you  say  I'm  to  die — all  you 
have  to  do  is  to  follow  me,  as  I  said,  and  you'll  see 
that  I  kept  my  word." 

The  Colonel's  laugh  came  up  from  his  gaunt  in- 
terior in  increasing  force  until  he  beat  his  sides. 

"I  confess  you  stick  to  a  man  like  his  mother-in- 
law,"  the  Vagabond  continued.  "It's  no  blame  of 
mine  that  I  didn't  get  away;  it's  entirely  owing  to 
your  carefulness." 

Under  the  caress  of  such  flattery,  the  Colonel  soon 
concluded  that  he  had  acted  wisely  and  well,  and  his 
chagrin  disappeared.  The  inevitable  consequence 
was  admiration  for  the  Vagabond's  good-humor, 
which  he  expressed  for  the  second  time  before  they 
ran  the  gauntlet  of  the  curious  soldiers  of  the  garri- 
son and  the  prisoner  found  himself  under  guard  at 
dusk  in  a  tobacco  warehouse  which  had  been  impro- 
vised into  a  prison.  A  plate  of  rice  and  bacon  was 
served  to  him  by  the  light  of  a  candle,  which  was 

410 


THE  VAGABOND 

taken  away  when  the  meal  was  finished  on  the  plea 
that  candles  were  "skeerce."  He  heard  the  talk  of 
loitering  soldiers  outside  the  window,  brought  by  a 
curiosity  which  the  pacing  sentry  partially  satisfied 
in  a  manner  not  entirely  complimentary  to  the  pris- 
oner and  yet  by  no  means  entirely  uncomplimentary. 

"Yes,  sir,  it's  William  Williams,  the  devil  that 
made  the  charge  at  Manassas  (Bull  Run)  ;  that's  cut 
through  our  lines  ag'in  an'  ag'in;  that  burned  the 
grist-mill  at  Clairville  yistiddy !  He  don't  look  harf 
as  ornery  as  he  is ;  fact,  don't  look  ornery  at  all.  Tall, 
blue-eyed  cuss,  that  smiles  as  if  hangin'  was  a  fur- 
lough." 

When,  his  arms  pressing  those  of  two  men  of  a 
corporal's  guard,  he  was  led  across  the  street  to  the 
town-hall,  now  the  commanding  general's  head-quar- 
ters, he  strained  his  eyes  in  the  darkness  in  a  hope 
that  Volilla  might  be  in  the  little  crowd,  though  he 
well  knew  that  it  was  against  all  reason  that  she 
should.  He  was  conducted  into  a  room  where  half 
a  dozen  oificers  were  seated  around  a  table  lighted 
by  two  candles — the  court-martial !  At  the  head  was 
the  General,  a  man  with  scraggly  beard,  dark,  pierc- 
ing eyes,  thin  lips,  a  big,  aquiline  nose,  a  protruding 
chin,  and  a  narrow  forehead.  He  was  sunk  low  in 
his  chair,  smoking  a  cob  pipe,  and  beyond  his  sharp 
and  steady  gaze  he  made  no  sign  in  recognition  of 
the  prisoner's  entry.  The  Colonel  was  seated  at  one 
side,  evidently  a  witness,  and  the  Vagabond  adjudged 
himself  wise  to  have  made  this  boaster  his  friend. 
Without  removing  his  pipe,  sententiously,  with  a 
certain  rough  dignity,  the  General  named  the  charges, 
and  called  for  the  captor's  story.  But  it  was  soon 

411 


THE  VAGABOND 

evident  that  the  Colonel's  good-humor  had  been  cur- 
ried only  to  exalt  his  egotism.  According  to  his 
Bobadilian  tale,  he  had  a  subtle  appreciation  in- 
stantly he  looked  into  the  prisoner's  eye  that  there 
was  something  wrong  with  him.  He  neglected  to  men- 
tion such  a  detail  as  the  hint  he  had  received  from 
Volilla. 

"I  questioned  him,  sir,"  said  the  Colonel,  "and  his 
answers  were  suspicious.  I  had  no  proof  except  my 
intuition — my  intuition,  sir.  Said  I,  'Young  man, 
you  don't  get  out  of  my  sight.  Let  us  see  your  Union 
officer  you  killed.'  He  took  me  toward  the  place,  but 
it  was  always  beyond,  beyond — beyond,  in  the  Yan- 
kee lines.  I  was  convinced ;  but  still  I  had  no  proof. 
Then  the  private  with  whom  he  exchanged  clothes  ap- 
peared. By  a  stratagem  I  was  able  to  bring  him  to 
you  alive,  a  simple  stratagem,  as  follows,"  and  thus 
he  ran  on. 

The  General  had  shown  no  sign  of  interest  beyond 
knocking  his  pipe-bowl  with  his  knuckles  and  leaning 
forward  to  relight  the  heel,  when  the  bright  light  and 
his  cheeks  sucked  in  made  his  face  sinister  and  un- 
compromising. 

"You're  positively  Machiavellian,"  he  said,  dryly, 
when  the  Colonel  had  finished.  Then  he  called  for 
the  private,  who,  under  his  sharp  questioning,  was 
obliged  to  include  the  cause  of  his  discomfiture  in  his 
testimony.  After  he  had  retired,  somewhat  crest- 
fallen, the  General  turned  to  the  Vagabond,  his  eyes 
drawn  to  two  beads  of  bitter  scrutiny. 

The  Vagabond  met  the  stare  with  his  lips  parted, 
his  head  thrown  back,  and  a  smile  playing  on  his  lips, 
while  his  blue  eyes,  as  they  had  on  another  occasion, 

412 


THE    VAGABOND 

received  the  shaft  as  the  sea  receives  the  lightning. 
Angry  with  himself  fot  making  jokes  to  please  his 
captor,  his  dignity  now  came  back  full  panoplied  in 
a  fine  contempt.  He  was  in  their  power,  he  reasoned ; 
he  had  taken  a  risk,  and  had  been  caught,  and  it 
was  not  his  place  to  cavil.  So  he  found  pleasure  in 
answering  the  General's  searching  questions  with 
outspoken  truth.  The  sympathy  of  the  younger 
members  of  the  court  was  chivalrously  enlisted 
when,  finally,  the  General  asked  if  he  had  anything 
to  say  for  himself.  They  leaned  forward  expectantly, 
hoping  and  believing,  such  was  his  reputation,  that 
audaciously  and  cunningly  he  was  keeping  back  some 
master-stroke  in  his  favor  as  a  climax. 

"Nothing,"  he  replied. 

The  General  was  an  irreconcilable;  one  of  those 
stern  believers  whose  sacrifices  for  even  a  false  prin- 
ciple always  awaken  more  admiration  than  the  most 
ardent  weather-vane  that  swings  over  an  expansive 
coat  and  a  well-filled  stomach.  If  souls  do  revisit  the 
scenes  of  their  activity,  then  his  is  still  charging  up 
and  down  the  Shenandoah  at  the  head  of  his  shattered 
cohorts. 

"By  every  rule  of  war  you  are  a  spy.  The  time 
for  the  Confederacy  to  draw  fine  distinctions  is  past," 
he  said.  "We  have  not  forgotten  that  in  the  Gettys- 
burg campaign  General  Lee  impressed  nothing  and 
destroyed  nothing;  nor  have  we  forgotten"  —  it 
seemed  as  if  the  breath  carrying  the  words  came  ice- 
cold  between  his  white  teeth,  showing  now  that  his 
pipe  was  removed  with  each  clearly  uttered  word  of 
his  slowly  spoken  sentences — "the  nature  of  General 
Sheridan's  return  in  the  Valley  campaign.  He  made 

418 


THE  VAGABOND 

the  land  as  bare  as  your  hand.  If  a  drunken  Union 
soldier  was  shot  by  one  of  his  own  comrades  in  a 
brawl,  he  killed  the  adult  inhabitants  of  the  vicinity 
and  burned  their  houses,  but  in  his  infinite  tender- 
ness set  the  children  adrift  to  starve  while  he  served 
out  rations  and  feather-beds  to  the  blacks." 

Every  exaggerated  rumor  about  the  North  was  as 
surely  gospel  to  the  General  as  those  about  the  South 
to  the  abolitionist  agitator. 

"General  Sheridan  is  my  superior  and  my  hero,  sir, 
and  you  will  realize  the  helplessness  of  my  position 
to  make  adequate  rejoinder,"  said  the  Vagabond.  - 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  and  I  stand  corrected,"  ob- 
served the  General;  then  continued,  "Sheridan  jus- 
tified his  action  on  the  ground  of  military  necessity. 
On  that  ground,  you  shall  be  shot  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. I  will  not  hang  any  brave  man,  no  matter  how 
bad  he  is." 


414 


XLV 

WHEN    LIFE    CALLS 

The  Vagabond's  soft  whistle  to  keep  a  cry  from 
his  lips  was  taken,  as  well  it  might  be  from  his  atti- 
tude and  expression,  as  signifying  the  finest  stoicism. 
Even  the  General  was  affected. 

"Have  you  any  request  to  make  ?"  he  asked,  more 
pleasantly  than  he  had  yet  spoken. 

"Only  this :  I  think,  gentlemen,  that  any  one  of  you 
being  in  my  position  and  of  my  rank  would  have  dis- 
guised himself  as  gladly  as  I  did  for  the  same  object." 
It  pleased  their  fancy  that  they  would ;  they  nodded. 
"I  did  not  lose  my  sabre  in  actual  conflict,"  he  went 
on.  "I  need  not  say  to  you  how  dear  his  sabre  is  to 
a  cavalry-man  when  he  has  wielded  it  for  four  years. 
I  recognize  that  it  is  your  prize.  Nevertheless,  I  am 
going  to  ask  that  I  may  name  the  person  whose  prize 
it  shall  be — a  Confederate.  Do  you  consent,  Gen- 
eral?" 

"Yes." 

"And  one  thing  more.  I  have  a  note  to  send  with 
the  sabre.  I  see  you  have  pen,  ink,  and  paper  there. 
May  I  write  it  now  ?" 

His  strange  request  was  granted,  and  seating  him- 
self he  wrote,  under  the  shadow  of  death,  in  his  confi- 
dent way,  as  if  she,  indeed,  were  his  betrothed: 

415 


THE    VAGABOND 


"I  am  sending  you  my  sabre.  Will  you,  as  a  last 
favor  to  a  soldier  of  the  enemy,  let  it  have  a  place 
on  the  walls  of  that  new  Lanleyton  which  awaits  you 
as  mistress  one  of  these  days  ?  I  ask  you  to  believe 
that,  despite  all  reports,  it  has  ever  been  clean.  It 
would  not  be  if  I  had  not  drawn  it  for  my  principles 
against  the  dictates  of  my  heart's  love.  Though  I 
have  fought  against  you  and  yours,  it  has  been  to 
hasten  the  time  when  I  should  come  to  you,  still 
hoping  after  the  long  wait,  in  the  first  halcyon  days 
of  peace.  The  chance  of  war  prevents  this  and  re- 
lieves you.  of  embarrassment.  Besides,  it  is  fitting, 
I  should  say,  that  you  should  have  my  sabre,  for  you 
alone  ever  disarmed  me.  May  it  remind  you  that  my 
story  was  true,  and  make  you  think  no  evil  of  me. 
Long  ago,  I  had  willed  such  interest  in  my  mine  as 
it  was  fair  to  my  partners  to  give,  to  you.  May  it  re- 
mind you  that  one  of  the  house-burners  preferred  to 
be  a  house-builder.  My  reward  I  have  already  en- 
joyed in  the  better  manhood  I  have  drawn  from 
knowing  you,  from  dreaming  of  you,  and  from 
loving  you. 

"YOUR  VAGABOND." 

"I  will  trust  you,  General,  to  keep  the  name  of  the 
person  a  secret." 

On  reading  the  name  the  General  looked  from  the 
envelope  to  the  prisoner  sharply,  but  otherwise  gave 
no  sign  of  his  surprise. 

"As  you  wish,"  he  said. 

Then,  in  his  admiration,  he  advanced  and  held  out 
his  hand  to  the  Vagabond,  as  did  each  officer  of  the 

416 


THE    VAGABOND 

court  in  turn,  adding  a  kindly  "Good-night."  Such 
politeness  seems  in  this  distant  time  as  turning  the 
knife  in  a  wound ;  but  these  men  had  become  too  fa- 
miliar with  death  to  think  of  it  as  more  than  a  loss  at 
cards.  Years  of  warfare  had  taken  them  out  of  them- 
selves. They  were  automatons  of  fate. 

The  corporal  of  the  guard,  who  had  overlooked  the 
trial,  addressed  the  prisoner  as  "Sir"  when  they  took 
'him  back  to  darkness  and  the  iron-barred  room,  where 
he  was  left  with  only  the  sound  of  a  sentry  pacing  up 
and  down  the  corridor  and  another  outside  the  win- 
dow. It  was  now  that  reaction  set  in,  and  he  began 
to  marvel  at  his  coolness  in  face  of  death,  as  he  had 
sometimes  marvelled  at  his  readiness  to  take  unneces- 
sary risks  in  action. 

"A  rich  man,  or  with  the  makings  of  one  fast  in  a 
hill-side,"  he  said,  in  disgust.  "A  rich  man  leaving 
his  property  to  swing  a  sabre  on  a  captain's  pay 
while  the  noise  of  his  machinery  was  calling  him.  A 
rich  man" — he  paused,  the  lines  of  the  Judge's  im- 
promptu peroration  on  the  court-house  steps  running 
through  his  mind.  "That  is  not  it.  I  count  no  more 
than  the  private  in  the  rear  ranks.  But  I  count  as 
much !  I  count  as  much !  I  am  in  the  full  tide  of 
youth.  I  have  before  me  all  the  joy  of  manhood's 
striving." 

He  thought  of  the  quartz  that  awaited  crushing  to 
feed  the  coffers  of  States  and  the  crucibles  of  the 
arts;  of  the  mines  undiscovered;  of  skill  turning 
bleak,  unproductive  surfaces  into  granaries  of  wealth ; 
of  how  much  there  was  yet  to  see  and  do;  of  the 
girdling,  in  fact,  of  the  globe  that  he  had  often 
girdled  in  vagabondish  fancy. 

417 


THE  VAGABOND 

Then  the  face  of  the  girl  beset  him.  The  mole 
was  playing  into  the  dimple,  and  he  imagined  her 
on  a  porch  in  her  riding-habit  at  dawn.  He  assisted 
her  to  mount.  They  rode  down  a  curving  drive,  and 
then  they  stopped  and  looked  back  at  the  great  house 
he  had  built  for  her,  and  they  looked  at  the  fields 
stretching  afar,  and  they  clasped  hands,  their  eyes 
brimming  with  their  oneness,  and  said,  "Ours !  ours ! 
ours !"  The  prospect  of  such  mornings,  the  prospect 
of  work  and  strife  and  loving  and  being  loved,  beck- 
oned to  him  from  the  vista  of  the  long  years — seem- 
ing so  long  from  the  younger  side — which  bring  sil- 
ver hairs. 

"It  is  a  little  hard,  a  little  hard!"  he  half -whis- 
pered, "and  I  had  thought  that  a  few  men  might  be 
better  and  live  better  for  my  being  in  the  world." 

Presently  he  told  himself  that  he  had  only  been 
building  again  on  the  basis  of  her  love.  This  roseate 
future  that  he  pictured  involved  a  condition  which 
his  very  presence  behind  those  bars  made  an  impos- 
sibility. That  she  was  unaware  of  his  capture  and 
of  his  sentence  as  well  was  inconceivable.  She  had 
come  to  him  with  no  word  of  sympathy;  there  was 
no  evidence  that  she  had  lifted  her  finger  to  mitigate 
his  punishment.  He  was  strictly  a  spy  to  her, 
strictly  an  enemy  of  her  people,  now,  for  whom  no 
exception  should  be  made.  It  had  not  occurred  to 
him  to  seek  her  assistance.  Importunity  was  out- 
side his  nature.  She  had  saved  his  life  once  when  his 
folly  endangered  it;  only  the  certainty  of  her  love 
could  give  him  an  excuse  for  asking  that  which  before 
she  had  granted  without  the  asking,  when  folly,  this 
time  not  for  her  sake  but  for  folly's  sake  alone,  had 

418 


THE  VAGABOND 

been  his  downfall. .  He  had  played ;  he  had  lost ;  and 
he  must  lay  the  blame  at  his  own  door. 

If  he  might  not  have  her,  he  thought,  then  the 
knowledge  of  the  fact  should  reconcile  him  to  death 
— philosophy  that  did  not  long  prevail.  It  was  hope- 
less for  him  to  contemplate  the  few  brief  hours  he  had 
without  her  in  the  scheme.  His  imagination  again 
placed  her  at  his  side.  Before  morning  he  had  a  life's 
work  to  do.  He  began  by  showing  her  the  mine ; 
there  was  the  new  machinery  to  be  installed,  the 
house  to  build,  the  trip  to  Europe,  all  in  the  first  few 
years.  Over  every  fancied  day  he  might  spend  a 
fancied  minute.  Sleep  was  as  out  of  the  question  as 
his  rescue  by  a  miracle.  Criminals  may  rest  well  and 
eat  well  in  the  face  of  the  gallows ;  your  man  of 
spirit  and  honor  has  food  for  thought,  and  the  dig- 
nity of  his  departure,  when  life  pulls  him  with  the 
strands  of  ambition  and  varied  interests,  is  that  of 
pride  and  culture  rather  than  that  of  the  fatted  calf. 
Out  of  the  last  second  he  should  draw  the  imagery 
of  combat  with  obstacles.  So  he  lived  on,  month  by 
month — a  man  in  a  dream — until  the  striking  of  the 
town-clock  at  the  hour  of  four  brought  him  back 
to  his  cell.  The  symphony  was  at  end ;  the  seats  were 
being  pulled  up  in  banging  chorus. 

Of  a  sudden  he  had  the  feeling  of  the  lion  awakened 
to  find  himself  bound  by  the  web  of  thread  woven 
by  the  pattering  mouse.  He  was  to  be  shot  while 
he  was  inanimate  as  a  stick  of  wood.  Masculine 
force,  which  is  never  quite  reconciled  to  death,  now 
ran  high.  Could  he  have  had  the  General  and  his 
court  before  him  at  that  moment,  he  would  have  de- 
fied them  in  a  rage  to  give  him  a  broom-stick  against 

419 


THE    VAGABOND 

all  their  swords.  He  groped  his  way  to  the  iron- 
barred  windows  and  softly,  so  that  the  sentry  should 
not  hear,  he  tested  them  one  by  one.  All  were  fast. 
His  fingers  ran  down  one  to  its  base  and  then  up 
to  the  top.  They  were  not  set  in  stone,  but  in  wood 
sills,  that  had  been  hastily  put  in  when  the  ware- 
house was  turned  into  a  jail.  He  patted  that  wood 
as  if  it  were  his  lost  child,  found.  All  that  he  needed 
was  something  to  cut,  and  he  would  soon  have  an 
opening  and  a  weapon  in  hand.  He  ran  his  fingers 
through  his  pockets  in  useless  effort,  for  his  knife 
had  been  taken  from  him  with  his  sabre.  He  groped 
over  the  floor  for  some  cutting  instrument,  and  not 
so  much  as  a  sliver  of  rock  could  he  find.  In  an 
hour  it  would  be  light.  He  had  only  his  nails  to 
work  with,  and  were  they  of  chilled  steel  he  could 
not  have  freed  himself.  He  leaned  against  the  bars 
for  a  moment  of  abandoned  helplessness.  The  silence 
of  the  town,  broken  only  by  the  sentry's  footsteps, 
seemed  to  press  the  breath  out  of  his  lungs.  Then, 
when  the  sentry  was  at  the  opposite  end  of  his  beat, 
he  heard  a  soft  whisper  very  near  at  hand,  and  he 
knew  that  Marcus  Aurelius,  though  he  could  not  see 
his  black  face  for  the  inky  night,  was  on  the  other 
side  of  the  bars. 

"Missy  Lanley  she  do  nuflin'!  I — "  The  sentry 
was  approaching  and  silence  followed.  "I  bringed 
yo'  dis  knife.  Yo'  kin  cut  dose  bars  out  o'  de  wood. 
When  yo'se  out,  sneak  'long  dis  side  o'  de  street  tell 
yo'  come  to  Marcus  Aurelius — "  and  the  black  phi- 
losopher was  gone. 

She  would  do  /nothing!  She  knew,  then!  She 
might  already  have  his  sabre.  Why  should  he  make 

420 


THE  VAGABOND 

the  effort,  when  bereft  of  the  very  object  of  living? 
But  effort  was  manna  to  him;  a  fighting  chance,  in- 
toxication. Softly  he  began  to  ply  the  knife  at  the 
base  of  the  middle  bar.  In  the  darkness  the  work  was 
slow;  the  iron  was  sunk  deeper  than  he  thought  and 
spread  at  the  end  and  clamped  with  nails,  so  he  had 
to  free  it  from  above  as  well  as  below.  The  breaking ' 
of  dawn  found  him  with  one  bar  free,  but  without 
an  opening  large  enough  for  his  body.  At  least  he 
had  a  weapon  that  assured  his  death  in  action. 

Then  he  heard  steps  in  the  corridor,  and  the  bolt 
of  the  door  slide  back.  The  guard  had  come  for 
him.  He  could  feel  his  muscles  straining  like  haw- 
sers while  he  waited  for  them  to  enter. 

As  the  door  opened  he  sprang  forward,  and  at  the 
same  instant,  as  if  to  give  him  zest  for  his  last  struggle, 
there  came  to  his  ears  from  a  distance  the  rush  of 
hoofs  and  the  cry  of  "Yankee  cavalry!"  waking  the 
echoes  of  the  silent  streets.  Was  it  Jimmy  and  Tim 
and  his  brave  fellows?  Had  they  swept  into  a  gar- 
rison town,  with  all  the  odds  against  them,  for  his 
sake?  The  corporal  and  the  guard  seemed  no  more 
than  men  of  straw  with  bayonets  of  paper  in  his  way. 
In  that  second,  when  to  dodge  an  inch  too  far  might 
mean  life  or  death,  he  had  the  confidence  and  the 
quickness  of  the  cat.  One  man  prepared  for  his  on- 
slaught was  better  than  five  men  unprepared,  who 
had  only  rifles,  always  clumsy  at  close  quarters,  for 
which  he,  himself,  had  the  best  of  weapons. 

The  soldiers  had  expected  to  find  a  helpless  being, 
and  found  a  devil,  who  rushed  at  them  with  arm  up- 
lifted. He  did  not  even  give  the  corporal  of  the 
guard  the  honor  of  a  blow,  but  felled  him  as  his 

421 


THE  VAGABOND 

equilibrium  was  in  the  balance  from  the  sudden  halt 
of  surprise.  Before  their  rifles  could  be  raised,  he 
had  struck  the  heads  of  the  two  nearest  soldiers  with 
two  nervous  blows,  as  if  they  were  a  pair  of  kettle- 
drums. He  seized  hold  of  the  rifle  of  the  man  behind 
and  shoved  its  butt  into  his  stomach  as  he  whirled 
him  around  until  he  was  actually  between  him  and 
the  only  remaining  one,  who  blew  a  cartridge  into 
the  ceiling.  Still  they  were  at  the  disadvantage  of 
the  unexpected,  still  the  supreme  idea  of  overcoming 
him  dazed  their  minds,  so  that  they  had  no  wit  to 
assist  their  force.  They  supposed  that  he  would  run 
away.  It  was  the  natural  thing  to  do.  Instead,  he 
tripped  the  man  nearest  him  and,  throwing  his  whole 
weight  against  him  as  he  did  so,  sent  him  sprawling 
back  into  the  room.  The  corporal  had  struck  his 
head  when  he  fell,  and  lay  stunned  on  the  stone  floor. 
The  others  were  rising.  The  Vagabond  jumped  back, 
and  swinging  the  great  door  to,  bolted  it. 

All  this  had  been  done  in  the  time  that  it  took 
the  sentry  to  reach  the  doorway  and  shout  for  help. 
And  the  sentry,  too,  came  upon  the  unexpected,  for 
the  bayonet  of  the  purloined  rifle  caught  him  as  he 
sprang,  his  bullet  flying  over  the  Vagabond's  head 
and  ricochetting  on  down  the  corridor. 

But  beyond,  in  the  open  street  that  could  be  raked 
by  rifle-fire,  lay  a  greater  danger  than  that  which 
the  prisoner  had  thwarted. 


422 


XLYI 

TO   LIE    AND    LIE    WELL 

Yolilla  was  living  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street, 
only  a  stone's  throw  from  the  warehouse.  She  knew 
immediately  of  the  Vagabond's  arrest,  and  Marcus 
Aurelius,  who  had  loitered  about  the  town-hall  during 
the  trial,  hastened  to  her  with  the  verdict.  She  ex- 
hibited no  surprise,  for  he  had  brought  only  the  news 
of  a  foregone  conclusion. 

"For  de  Lawd  Gord's  sake,  Missy  Vo !"  he  cried. 
"Has  dis  yer  war  made  yo'  so  hard-hearted  dat  yo' 
kin  hyah  dat  ez  ef  twuz  no  mo'  dan  sendin'  a  fiel' 
han'  t'  jail?  Yo'se  gwine  t'  do  some'n',  am'  yo'?  Yo' 
ain'  gwine  t'  see  'im  shot?" 

"Why  should  I  do  anything  for  a  Yankee  spy?" 
she  asked. 

"  'Cause  he's  jes'  one  o'  de  fines'  men  dat  uver 
lived;  'cause  he  heart  is  de  bes'es'  heart  a  man  could 
have,  on'y  he  got  a  little  screw  loose  in  he  head  dat 
mek  'im  t'ink  niggers  oughter  be  free.  Who  care 
'bout  dat  little  screw  when  he's  got  de  bes'es'  heart? 
'Cause — 'cause  he  loves  yo';  he  loves  yo',  an'  yo' 
loves  'im!" 

"I  love  him !  I  don't.  How  dare  you  speak  to  me 
in  this  way?" 

"  'Cause  I'se  yo'  ole  sarvant,  dat  goes  whar  yo'  go, 
423 


THE  VAGABOND 

nuver  mindin'  de  hunger  or  de  wedder  or  de  bullets. 
'Cause  yo'  taught  me  t'  tell  de  truf,  Missy  Vo." 

"Then  tell  it,  and  don't  be  ridiculous." 

"It's  redick'lus  fur  yo'  t'  set  dyah  doin'  nuttin'. 
He's  redick'lus  'cause  he  lose  all  he  senses  when  he 
see  yo',  he  loves  yo'  so  har';  'cause  de  very  sight  o' 
yo'  mek  'im  dazed  like  when  yo'  bring  a  man  out  o' 
de  dark  into  de  sunlight." 

Unconsciously  he  had  explained  the  Vagabond's 
strange  conduct  in  inviting  recognition  as  he  stood 
by  the  roadside.  The  realization  of  this  now  clutched 
her  heart. 

"He  wan'  'countable  nohow  yistiddy.  I  know." 
And  for  the  first  time  he  told  the  story  of  the  tur- 
quoise locket.  "When  he  see  dat  piece  o'  writin', 
an'  he  t'ink  how  yo'  kyared  it  nex'  yo'  heart,  it's 
jes'  ez  ef  he  wake  up  out  o'  pu'gatory  an'  he  wuz 
walkin'  in  a  fieP  o'  flowers  all  a-twinklin'  wid  honey 
dew.  He  keep  right  on  walkin'  an'  nuver  see  no  man 
wid  a  rifle  a-hidin'  in  de  flowers — yo*  flowers,  Missy 
Vo!" 

"And  you  let  him  keep  that  locket,  you,  my  ser- 
vant! Are  you  in  his  pay?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  is." 

His  blunt  confession  sunk  all  other  considerations. 

"You,  Marcus!"  she  exclaimed.  She  could  not 
comprehend  such  disloyalty.  She  could  not  believe 
the  Vagabond  guilty  of  such  perfidy. 

"In  dis  a-way  I'se  in  he  pay,  jes'  ez  I'se  in  yo'  pay 
— 'cause  I  am'  gettin*  no  money  frum  no  one.  Dem 
dat  considers  pay  in  dis  time  ain'  doin'  what  I'se  been 
doin* — not  fur  nuttin'.  I'se  a  trained  sarvant  wuk- 
kin'  fur  glory.  My  pay  is  de  pleasure  I  gets  in  sarvin' 

424 


THE  VAGABOND 

a  real  lady  or  gent'man — all  de  pleasure  ole  Marcua 
got  lef '  in  dis  hyah  worl'  wid  plenty  o'  promises  an* 
no  guarantee  fur  de  nex'.  Yo'se  a  lady;  he's  a  gent'- 
man. An'  de  grandes'  pay  I  uver  got  from  any  gent'- 
man I  got  from  'im  when  he  wuz  sick  at  Lanl'ton — 
he  smile  an'  he  manner!  Money!  If  it's  money  I'se 
arfter,  don'  yo'  s'pose  one  o'  dem  new-made  Yankee 
gin'rals  'ud  like  a  sarvant  dat  could  teach  'em  a  little 
quality?  Lawd!  'Cause  I  ain'  no  fool  dem  ab'lition- 
is'  fo'ks  would  dress  me  up  an'  put  me  on  de  lechture 
stage  to  show  how  smart  de  niggers  is.  To'  de 
Lawd  Gord,  if  yo'  won'  do  nuttin',  de  time  has 
come  fur  Marcus  t'  desert  an'  git  a  mule  an'  ride 
'way!" 

He  stiffened  in  dignity  and  started  from  the  room. 

"Stop,  Marcus!"  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm 
and  patted  it,  while  tears  glistened  in  his  devoted 
eyes.  "I  knew  you  would  not  be  in  anybody's  pay. 
I  was  angry  when  I  said  that.  I'm  afraid  I've  been 
very  neglectful.  I  never  think  of  you.  I  take  your 
loyalty  for  granted." 

"It  ain'  yo'  place  t'  t'ink  o'  me;  it's  my  place  tf 
t'ink  o'  yo'.  Yo'  been  neglectful !  Why,  yo'se  divided 
yo'  las'  biscuit  wid  me — like  he  would.  Dat's  it — 
yo'  two,  yo'  two!  De  Lawd  meant  yo'  fur  each  urr, 
an'  in  droppin'  yo'  out  o'  heaven  de  win'  tuk  'im  t' 
de  urr  side  o'  de  Potomac." 

"Yes,  the  other  side  of  the  Potomac.  That  is 
enough,  even  if  I  did  love  him.  Love  him!  Why 
should  I  talk  of  that?  I  don't;  of  course  I  don't!  I 
won't!  As  an  act  of  mercy  I  will  save  him.  I  don't 
believe  in  executions.  The  General  is  too  fond  of 
them.  A  telegram  to  General  Lee — the  first  favor  I 

425 


THE  VAGABOND 

have  ever  asked  of  him — will  get  him  reprieve;  I 
know  it  will." 

"So  'twould,  Missy  Yo.  I  t'ought  o'  dat.  But  ds 
wire's  been  cut  dis  evenin'." 

Then,  indeed,  she  was  all  concern. 

"You're  sure?  No,  it  can't  be;  it  can't  be!"  she 
cried.  "Go!  Be  quick!  Ask  again  if  it  won't  be 
up  before  morning.  Go,  quick!" 

She  sprang  for  the  door  and  opened  it  for  him, 
closed  it  slowly  after  he  was  out,  and  sank  into  a 
chair. 

"Perhaps  his  own  company  cut  the  wire,"  she 
thought.  "There's  the  horror  of  him:  whatever  I 
do  for  him,  I  do  for  the  enemy!  Yet  I  would  not 
be  a  woman — I  would  not  be  human — if  I  did  noth- 
ing. I  cannot  go  to  this  General.  A  request  from 
me  would  only  excite  his  suspicion.  He  must  know 
that  it  was  I  who  first  recognized  the  man.  I — I  was 
so  certain  that  I  could  call  on  'Uncle  Robert'!  He 
has  said  so  often  that  he  would  do  anything  I  wished. 
I — I  was  so  certain  that  I  could  telegraph,  and — and 
I  expected,  of  coursed,  to  save  him  again — only  I  hated 
to  save  him!" 

Her  head  fell  into  her  arms,  and  she  sobbed — she 
knew  not  why.  A  knock  at  the  door  made  her  dry 
her  eyes.  She  rose  and  opened  it,  to  admit  the  Com- 
mandant himself. 

"You  probably  heard  that  we  captured  a  Yankee 
officer  spying  on  our  lines  in  Confederate  uniform," 
he  announced,  abruptly.  He  was  always  abrupt,  more 
especially  so  since  his  own  home  in  the  Shenandoah 
Valley  had  been  burned. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  disinterestedly.  "Won't  you  be 
420 


THE  VAGABOND 

seated,  General — on  the  lounge?    The  chairs  are  all 
at  the  hospital." 

"Since  the  trial,  I  have  learned  what  was  not  de- 
veloped at  the  time — that  you  first  called  attention 
to  the  man.  Afterward  you  said  you  were  mistaken 
in  your  identification." 

"So  I  was." 

"Another  peculiar  coincidence  is  that  he  asked  us 
to  give  you  his  sabre.  Here  is  a  note  that  accom- 
panies it."  As  he  handed  the  folded  paper,  he  re- 
garded her  keenly,  if  not  suspiciously. 

"A  note  and  sabre  for  me!  Are  you  sure?"  Her 
amazement,  even  to  the  frown,  was  facile. 

"Quite,"  said  the  taciturn  soldier. 

"Probably  the  note  will  explain.  It  will  be  more 
soldierly,  won't  it,  to  read  that  before  I  surmise?" 

Whatever  her  feelings  were,  no  expression  flitted 
across  her  face,  except  that  of  anger  and  disgust. 
She  knew  that  he  would  want  to  know  what  the  con- 
demned man  had  written.  Likely  this  would  put  her 
in  a  dubious  light,  and  the  Vagabond  under  double 
guard.  She  must  improvise,  and  improvise  well !  She 
must  lie,  and  lie  well! 

"This  is  worthy  of  a  contemptible  Yankee!"  she 
said.  "The  man  put  himself  forward  on  the  road. 
His  face  was  like  that  of  a  regular  officer  I  had  known 
in  "Washington  before  the  war.  But  that  officer  had 
a  scar  across  the  forehead,  and  this  one  had  none;  so 
I  supposed  that  he  was  merely  one  of  our  own  men 
who  was  trying  to  impose  on  a  girl  with  familiarity. 
Would  you  like  to  know  what  the  brute  has  written?" 

"I  intended  to  ask  as  much." 

Fair  One,'  "  she  pretended  to  read  from  tht 
427 


THE  VAGABOND 

paper,  "  'you  did  your  part  prettily.  It  pleases  me 
quite  to  have  won  favor  so  readily.  It  would  have 
been  pleasant  to  have  been  imprisoned  instead  of  shot. 
Maybe  then  you  might  have  brought  me  books  to 
read,  and  prison-life  would  not  have  been  so  dull. 
However,  I'm  to  die  in  the  morning,  says  the  court, 
and  in  honor  of  my  last  flirtation,  please  take  this 
sabre  from  a  devil  of  a  fellow/  ' 

Her  anger  kept  rising  as  she  read,  and  with  the 
last  word  she  began  tearing  the  paper  in  pieces. 

"What  insolence!  Could  anyone  but  a  Yankee 
conceive  it?"  she  cried,  as  she  threw  the  bits  of  paper 
on  the  floor,  with  a  gesture  of  disdain. 

A  smile  felt  its  way  outward  from  the  General's 
lips  in  unfrequented  paths. 

"A  splendid  soldier's  foibles  may  be  forgiven,"  he 
said.  "His  courage  and  ability  alone  count.  He 
smiled  when  I  sentenced  him  to  be  shot;  he  could  be 
gay  and  gallant  in  his  kind  of  a  way  in  the  face  of 
death.  I  would  keep  the  sabre,  if  I  were  you.  It 
is  all  the  same  whether  it's  the  household  cavalry  of 
Louis,  with  their  laces  fluttering,  as  if  dying  were  a 
posture  in  a  dance,  or  the  Puritans,  singing  hymns 
as  they  charged:  the  trophy  of  a  brave  man  is  worth 
having.  Good-night,  Miss  Lanley."  And  he  stalked 
out,  leaving  her  alone  with  the  sputtering  candle  and 
her  falsehood. 

"Oh,  that  I  should  have  to  act  like  that  for  the 
sake  of  a  Yankee  captain !"  was  her  angry  thought. 

She  looked  at  the  scattered  note  as  if  she  would 
try  to  patch  together  the  pieces.  But  what  need? 
The  original — the  horror  of  it  and,  yes,  the  tribute 
of  it — was  written  on  her  brain.  She  felt  that  she 

423 


THE    VAGABOND 

could  repeat  it,  word  for  word,  and  wished  that  she 
might  forget  it  all.  Her  glance  fell  on  the  sabre, 
which  the  General  had  left  on  the  table,  a  service- 
weapon  with  a  leather  wrist-cord  instead  of  gilt  braid 
and  a  tassel.  She  put  her  hand  on  the  hilt  which  his 
had  so  often  clasped,  and  in  a  fit  of  abstraction  slowly 
drew  forth  the  blade.  How  easily  it  came;  buoy- 
antly, smilingly,  as  if  a  part  of  its  owner!  Not  a 
spot  marred  its  cold  sheen.  She  ran  her  finger  along 
the  keen  battle-edge.  How  often  had  it  clove  the 
flesh  and  drunk  the  blood  of  her  people  fighting  for 
their  liberty!  She  thrust  the  steel  home,  as  if  to 
blot  out  the  picture  it  made,  and  picking  up  the  ter- 
rible thing,  took  it  to  her  bedroom,  where  she  laid 
it  in  a  closet  softly  as  if  she  feared  to  waken  it. 

"  'May  it  remind  you  that  my  story  is  true,  and 
may  you  think  no  evil  of  me,'  "  she  quoted  from  the 
note.  "He  is  against  everything  that  I  hold  dear. 
He  is  to  be  shot  in  the  morning!  He  asks  nothing, 
expects  nothing,  of  me.  He  only  said  good-by. 
I — "  Her  words  were  cut  short  by  the  entrance  of 
Marcus. 

"It's  no  use.  De  telegraph's  done  broke  an'  it  can't 
be  fixed  to-night." 

"Then  —  we  —  must  —  help  —  him  —  to  —  es- 
cape!" she  said,  slowly. 

"Yessum,  an'  we  kin — we  kin!" 

He  bent  his  white  head  close  to  hers  and  whispered 
his  plan — two  plans,  at  once  dependent  and  inde- 
pendent. 

"But  that  might  mean  killing — killing  our  own  sol- 
diers! It  is  helping  the  enemy!"  she  cried. 

"I  reckon  dat  de  chance  is  bes'es'  fur  killin'  de  Yan- 
429 


THE    VAGABOND 

kees.  Killin'  ?  Ain'  dis  hyah  a  war  ?  Am'  a  war  fur 
mekin'  fights  ?  Is  dis  hjah  gar'son  af eerd  o'  a  parecel 
o'  Sheridan's  house-bu'ners  ?" 

"Go!  go,  Marcus!  How  I  shall  expiate  this  new 
offence  against  my  country,  I  can't  tell;  but  go  you 
must!  Tell  him  you  did  it.  Tell  him  I  would  do 
nothing.  Then  he'll  have  no  temptation  to  come 
again!" 

"Jes'  yo'  trus'  me!  Nobody's  gwine  t'  pay  any 
'tention  t'  a  wuthless  ole  nigger!"  And,  the  cunning 
contraband  again,  he  slouched  away,  rubbing  his 
hands  at  the  prospect  of  adventure. 

To  her  fell  the  more  trying  part — that  of  waiting. 
She  drew  the  lounge  near  the  window  that  overlooked 
the  warehouse,  and  lay  down  for  a  sleepless  night.  If 
Marcus  failed  and  dawn  showed  the  Vagabond  pass- 
ing out  under  guard  to  his  death!  What  should  she 
do  then? 


430 


XLVII 

JIMMY    RECONSIDERS 

With  the  first  glimmer  of  light,  •  her  straining  eyes 
saw  the  corporal's  guard  enter  the  warehouse,  and 
her  heart  sank,  only  to  leap  when  she  heard  the  pound- 
ing thrum  of  hoofs  on  the  bridge  leading  into  the 
town.  If  the  first  part  of  Marcus's  plan  had  failed, 
might  not  the  guard  with  their  prisoner  run  into  the 
arms  of  the  Yankee  cavalry,  which  would  pluck  their 
leader  out  of  the  jaws  of  death  and  pass  on? 

"He  will  be  saved!" 

The  cry  was  one  of  tear-brimming  joy  and  relief, 
arrested  in  her  throat  by  the  sight  of  him,  bar  in 
hand,  stepping  alone  out  of  the  warehouse  door,  while 
a  bullet  overhead  knocked  a  spit  of  dust  out  of  the 
stone.  She  thought  now  that  he  would  be  shot  by 
the  soldiers  rushing  to  arms,  before  rescue  could  come, 
and  she  dashed  out  of  the  room  and  down  the  stairs, 
repeating,  in  her  frenzy,  "His  horse!  His  horse, 
Marcus!" 

The  Vagabond  himself,  as  he  emerged,  saw,  sus- 
pended in  their  action,  as  if  snapped  by  a  camera's 
shutter,  a  platoon  coming  into  the  main  street,  and 
beyond  them  his  own  Vagabonds'  naked  blades  greet- 
ing the  sun  of  dawn  in  their  charge.  Did  they  know 
where  he  was,  or  had  they  merely  come  on  a  hap- 
hazard quest?  He  had  a  fear  that  they  would  sweep 

431 


THE  VAGABOND 

by  without  seeing  him;  while,  with  the  instinct  of  the 
veteran,  he  looked  quickly  in  the  opposite  direction, 
to  make  sure  of  every  condition.  A  few  yards  away, 
by  the  gate  of  a  wooden  wall  of  some  compound  or 
other — could  he  mistake  the  white  foot,  the  broad 
buttocks,  the  graceful  head?  It  was  Breaker,  his 
Breaker!  Dropped  out  of  the  skies?  Come  on  wings 
ahead  of  his  column?  It  did  not  matter.  He  was 
there,  his  empty  saddle  calling!  As,  disdaining  the 
help  of  a  stirrup,  the  Vagabond  bounded  to  place,  he 
saw  a  black,  wrinkled  hand  withdraw  from  the  reins, 
the  door  of  the  wall  was  closed  with  a  bang,  and  from 
behind  it  Marcus  Aurelius's  voice  mumbled  in  re- 
buke: 

"Dyah,  yo'  fool  of  a  sowger!  Yo'se  out  o'  trubble 
ag'in!" 

The  Vagabond  whirled  Breaker  in  his  tracks  in 
time  to  see  the  platoon's  formation  broken  into  parts 
by  the  charge  of  his  men — his  own  men — whose  speed 
slackened  as  they  approached  the  warehouse.  Swing- 
ing the  iron  bar  over  his  head  in  place  of  his  sabre, 
he  hastened  toward  them.  Between  shouts  he  could 
hear  in  the  distance  another  roar  of  hoofs  and  every- 
where the  hurrying  footsteps  from  the  barracks  and 
the  lines  toward  the  centre  of  strife.  In  a  minute 
they  would  be  the  focus  of  a  field  of  bayonets  and  the 
target  of  a  raking  fire  from  all  directions.  Jimmy 
Pool,  his  unbooted,  unstirruped,  swollen  foot  in  its 
sock  hanging  limp,  no  sooner  sang  out  a  recognition 
than  he  passed  the  order  for  the  troop  to  continue  its 
pace,  and  the  Vagabond,  turning  Breaker  a  second 
time,  was  elbow  to  elbow  with  his  first  lieutenant; 
while  from  the  rear,  above  the  pounding  of  hoofs  and 

432 


THE    VAGABOND 

the  rattle  of  musketry,  came  the  mighty  voice  of  Tim 
Booker: 

"We  don't  care  a  whooping  damn  what  happens 
now!" 

"The  General  doesn't  know  I'm  here,"  said  Jimmy. 
"He's  moving  along  the  James  Canal.  Expects  us  to 
join  him  to-day.  Southbridge  has  come  up  from 
Lynchburg  with  five  or  six  hundred  fresh  horses,  just 
off  their  winter  forage.  Saw  him  on  the  road  not  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  back.  River's  a  torrent.  We'll  be 
hemmed  in  on  all  sides.  You  can't  afford  to  be  taken; 
we  can,  being  only  prisoners,  at  the  worst.  Soon's  we 
get  out  into  the  country,  you've  got  to  use  the  first 
cover  to  separate  from  us  and  try  a  disguise." 

"Jimmy!  Have  we  been  together  for  four  years 
— and  you  ask  me  to  do  that  ?" 

"No.  I  beg  your  pardon."  And  Jimmy  was  very 
contrite,  as  he  well  might  be,  considering  his  own 
standard  of  chivalry. 

"The  trouble  is,  we  are  going  in  the  wrong  direc- 
tion," said  the  Vagabond,  directly,  and  he  cried  the 
charge  a  halt. 

Jimmy  looked  at  him  in  blank  amazement,  while 
the  troopers  bounced  into  the  air  with  the  abrupt  jolt 
as  they  heard  the  further  order  to  face  about.  They 
had  just  reached  the  edge  of  the  town.  The  main 
street  through  which  they  had  ridden  was  filling  with 
the  soldiery  that  had  poured  into  it  upon  the  general 
alarm. 

"Southbridge  will  come  up  with  his  full  force  as 
fast  as  he  can  go;  his  sash  and  plume  a-flying.  I 
know  Southbridge.  He  doesn't  lift  his  nose  from  a 
scent."  The  men  were  in  form  now,  leaning  over 

433 


THE  VAGABOND 

their  horses'  manes  to  minimize  the  danger  of  the 
rifle-fire.  "Sound  the  call  to  boots  and  saddles!" 
said  the  Vagabond  to  the  bugler.  Without  being 
misunderstood  he  could  not  have  the  charge  sounded 
twice,  which  would  have  better  expressed  his  pur- 
pose of  informing  the  Confederates  of  his  intention. 

"Boots  and  saddles!  When  we've  been  in  'em  for 
days!"  said  a  trooper,  who  expressed  the  utter  aston- 
ishment of  all. 

"I  want  to  give  them  time  to  receive  us  properly," 
added  the  Vagabond. 

Had  the  Captain's  mind  been  touched  by  his  ter- 
rible experience?  Had  he  sunk  his  love  of  his  men 
in  his  own  vanity?  Because  death  was  certain  with 
him,  had  he  concluded  that  they  must  die  with  him? 
What  sane  being  could  contemplate  tossing  a  hundred 
horse  in  column  of  fours  against  five  or  six  hundred 
infantry,  after  giving  them  time  and  warning?  It 
was  throwing  eggs  against  a  rock.  Jimmy  was  on 
the  point  of  calling  for  disobedience,  but  discipline 
was  too  strong  with  him.  The  men  were  gritting  their 
teeth,  feeling  like  pegs  set  up  for  murder,  and  yet 
their  love  for  their  leader  was  too  great,  if  not  their 
confidence  in  his  wisdom,  to  make  them  speak  the 
fears  of  their  hearts.  They  were  ready  to  go  to  their 
death  without  seeing  any  reason  for  it,  and  the  appre- 
ciation of  this  admiration  and  trust  was  the  most  glori- 
ous moment  of  the  Vagabond's  career  as  a  soldier,  far 
outstripping  that  of  the  charge.  Tim  Booker,  the 
complaining,  had  not  once  raised  his  voice.  No;  he 
was  running  his  thumb  along  the  edge  of  his  sabre 
in  a  preoccupied  manner.  He  had  given  up  all  hope 
of  the  eternal  hills  of  California  and  become  as  sin- 

434 


THE  VAGABOND 

ister  as  the  devil  himself  in  preparing  for  hia  last 
ride. 

The  General,  hastening  barefooted  and  coatless 
from  his  bed,  had  placed  with  masterly  rapidity  a  row 
of  bayonets  six  deep  across  the  road  and  stretched 
two  or  three  companies  facing  one  another  along  the 
buildings  on  both  sides  in  front  of  this.  He  compre- 
hended admiringly  that  this  mad  cavalry-man  was 
taking  the  small  chance  of  getting  back  to  Sheridan 
against  the  heavy  odds  of  death;  that  he  preferred 
selling  his  life  dearly;  preferred  falling  in  action  to 
capture  and  certain  execution.  His  adversary  could 
almost  imagine  the  grim  commander  smiling  as  he 
presented  his  blade-studded  torso  of  steel  and  the  long 
arms  of  rifle-fire  for  murderous  embrace. 

Jimmy  put  his  hand  on  his  leader's  arm  and  looked 
at  him  tragically.  "Billy!  Billy!"  he  said,  plain- 
tively. 

Beyond  the  infantry  appeared,  now  in  increasing 
size  like  an  approaching  locomotive,  Southbridge's 
force,  whose  coming  was  unknown  to  their  compa- 
triots. 

"Tricking  policemen!"  said  the  Vagabond  to  him- 
self, as  he  rose  in  his  stirrups,  turned  to  his  men,  and 
called  with  all  the  strength  of  his  lungs: 

"Observe  that  cross  street,  just  this  side  of  the  Re- 
ception Committee!  As  you  come  to  it,  turn  by  fours 
to  the  right  and  left  and  meet  on  the  main  road  at 
the  bridge!" 

"Oh!    Of  course!"  gasped  Jimmy. 

As  they  broke  into  the  charge,  they  saw  an  officer 
spring  out  of  the  infantry's  mass  with  arms  uplifted 
toward  Southbridge's  cavalry.  As  they  swung  into 

435 


THE  VAGABOND 

the  side  streets,  their  last  glimpse  was  of  the  lurching 
mass  of  horses  and  men,  while  a  few  of  the  infantry 
were  firing  or  springing  forward  toward  the  cloud  of 
dust  that  the  dividing  column  had  left  behind  as  a 
mantle  for  its  fallen.  Both  the  General  and  South- 
bridge  must  have  understood  instantly  the  turn  was 
made  the  meaning  of  it.  The  Vagabond  expected  as 
much.  He  counted  upon  the  time  required  for  the 
enemy  to  carry  out  the  simple  order  needful  to  trap 
him  to  bring  him  beyond  immediate  reach.  A  lieu- 
tenant in  Southbridge's  rear  was  the  first  to  respond  to 
the  General's  call.  As  he  charged  down  an  alley, 
Jimmy  Pool  saw  him  coming  and  cried  the  warning-, 
and  as  he  emerged  the  sabre  of  the  last  man  in  Jim- 
my's party  cut  off  his  head  as  if  it  were  a  poppy's.  It 
was  a  valuable  head,  in  that  its  loss  made  the  party 
that  it  led  stop  for  reinforcements. 

When  the  two  divisions  of  the  Vagabonds  met,  with 
a  shout  of  tribute  to  their  leader,  on  the  main  road 
which  the  Vagabond  had  tramped  as  a  prisoner  the 
evening  before,  he  felt  nothing  of  the  elation  of  vic- 
tory. They  were  far  from  safe  yet;  rather,  in  the 
position  of  a  fox  who  has  escaped  being  knocked  on 
the  head  to  give  the  hounds  a  quarry.  Tim  and 
Jimmy  voicing  their  praise,  the  Vagabond  only 
said: 

"Tricking  policemen !  Don't  slacken  speed!"  Then 
he  asked:  "The  horses  have  had  no  rations  since  last 
night?" 

"No." 

"And  Southbridge  is  fresh !  He  ought  to  outride 
us  in  a  long  run!" 

"I  fear  so!" 

436 


THE    VAGABOND 

"And  the  nearest  direct  line  to  Sheridan  is  to  the 
northeast." 

"But  the  river — the  current  won't  let  us  cross  it!" 

"We  must.  The  pontoons  were  removed  when  our 
brigade  fell  back,  I  suppose?" 

"Of  course,"  Jimmy  replied.  "All  I'd  been  think- 
ing of  was  to  save  your  neck.  We  expected  to  be 
taken." 

Before  this,  Southbridge  had  brought  his  superior 
force  together.  As  the  Federals  turned  off  the  road 
they  saw  their  pursuers  approaching  at  a  gallop. 

"How  I'd  like  to  wait  for  them!"  the  Vagabond 
fairly  groaned.  "I  would,  too,  if  they  weren't  five 
times  as  many  as  we  are,  with  infantry  back  of  'em. 
Four  miles  to  the  river — it's  at  least  that!  Hm-m! 
We  must  make  it!" 

Their  horses  sank  deep  in  the  mire  and  their  ber.c 
effort  was  little  more  than  a  slow  trot.  Southbridge 
seemed  to  be  going  at  double  their  speed,  the  while 
he  remained  on  the  road ;  but  when  he,  too,  tried  the 
field  with  the  Federals'  tracks  for  his  path,  he  slack- 
ened. Still,  with  the  urgings  of  shout  and  spur,  he 
was  gaining.  Every  trooper  saw  that  over  his  shoul- 
der, and  marvelled  what  resource  of  their  leader  should 
save  them  this  time.  He  gave  no  sign  and  uttered  no 
word,  except  to  turn  his  head  and,  in  his  cheerful  way, 
to  say  that  they  were  going  fast  enough.  He  did  not 
want  winded  horses  for  the  crisis. 

Then  his  keen  eye  saw  a  stretch  of  rising  ground 
nearly  in  the  form  of  a  semicircle  enclosing  a  swamp 
deeper  than  that  of  the  immediate  region.  On  the 
strength  of  his  knowledge  of  his  adversary,  he  swerved 
his  course,  and  Southbridge,  attempting  to  profit  by 

437 


THE  VAGABOND 

the  folly  of  not  taking  a  straight  line  of  flight,  tried  the 
cut-off,  with  the  result  that  he  fell  into  a  morass  and 
some  of  his  troopers  were  unhorsed,  while  the  Vaga- 
bonds actually  increased  the  distance  between  them 
and  their  pursuers. 

But  the  new  gap  became  less  and  less  until  it  was 
no  more  than  five  hundred  yards,  when  the  Vagabond 
saw  the  muddy,  boiling  surface  of  the  swollen  river. 
By  the  fringe  of  half-submerged  willows  along  its 
bank,  he  judged  its  course  and  made  for  a  bend  where 
his  instinct  for  topography  told  him  that  the  current 
would  carry  a  swimmer  to  the  other  side.  Then  he 
whispered  his  spirit  into  Breaker's  ears;  then  every 
man  of  his  command  drove  his  steed  to  the  utmost, 
and  the  energy  which  they  had  reserved  actually 
widened  the  breach,  promising  them  the  time  which 
they  needed  in  order  not  to  be  so  many  helpless  tar- 
gets while  they  crossed. 

No  one  asked  himself  whether  it  was  possible  to 
stem  that  torrent  and  reach  the  other  side;  whether 
they  should  not  be  whirled  around  like  leaves  in  an 
eddy,  some  drowning,  some  thrown  helpless  on  the 
bank,  prisoners  for  the  taking.  Horses  as  well  as 
riders  felt  the  pressure  of  flight.  They  sprang  in  after 
their  leader  and  they  were  caught  and  carried  on,  but 
toward  the  other  side,  until,  with  lashings  by  some 
and  coaxing  words  by  others,  hoofs  touched  earth  and 
dripping  flanks  broke  clear  of  the  water  and  dashed 
through  the  bushes  and  under  their  cover  with  the 
first  sprinkle  of  bullets  from  the  enemy  about  their 
ears.  The  Vagabond  had  no  doubt  that  whatever 
courage  or  strength  could  do,  Southbridge  would.  He 
knew  that  the  pursuers  would  overtake  him  before  he 

438 


THE  VAGABOND 

could  reach  Sheridan  if  they  were  allowed  to  cross. 
Sending  the  men  with  the  weakest  horses  on,  he  re- 
tained the  others,  who,  knee-deep  in  the  overflow, 
and  poking  their  rifles  through  the  willows,  saw 
Southbridge  himself  about  to  enter  the  water.  He  was 
swinging  his  sabre. 

"That'll  help  his  horse  swim!"  piped  a  waggish 
trooper,  "that  and  his  plume!  And  oh,  mother  dear! 
he's  going  to  get  his  pretty  sash  all  muddy!" 

"Wait!  Wait  until  they  are  well  in!"  the  Vaga- 
bond said.  "And  don't  hit  their  leader  if  you  can 
help  it,"  for  he  had  suddenly  a  kindly  feeling  as  well 
as  one  of  admiration  for  Southbridge — a  gallant  con- 
sideration that  amounted  to  the  opinion  that  here  was 
too  good  a  man  to  owe  his  death  to  his  houndish  indis- 
cretion and  lack  of  forethought.  Besides,  he  was 
grateful  to  Southbridge ;  grateful  that  he  was  not  the 
same  type  of  man  as  Richard  Bulwer,  or  a  score  of 
other  Confederates  whose  acumen  had  met  his  own 
with  equally  keen  edge  and  skill  and  more  than  once 
outwitted  him. 

Mercilessly,  as  war  commands  in  the  name  of 
mercy,  they  dropped  the  struggling  riders  into  the 
water  until  not  half  a  dozen  remained.  These,  with 
their  cursing  leader,  were  borne  down-stream  and 
finally  to  their  own  bank,  where  the  rest  of  the  force 
had  fallen  back  to  the  cover  of  the  willows  and  begun 
firing,  but  not  until  the  rear-guard  of  the  Vagabonds 
was  departing  at  the  run.  Undaunted,  Southbridge 
gathered  his  men  and  entered  the  water.  This  time 
he  succeeded  in  crossing;  and  he  pursued  the  Vaga- 
bonds until  they  were  in  sight  of  the  columns  of 
smoke  from  the  timbers  of  the  locks  of  the  James 

439 


THE  VAGABOND 

Canal,  and  a  cavalry  patrol  was  blue — oh,  such  a 
bright,  cheerful  blue  to  those  Yankees,  who  slowed 
their  blown  horses  and  sighed  from  happiness.  But 
there  was  no  sign  of  elation  on  the  Vagabond's  own 
face. 

"Old  Marcus!  Do  you  think  they  suspect  him?" 
he  asked,  in  a  manner  which  showed  what  thought 
had  been  uppermost  from  the  beginning. 

"No;  not  the  least  bit,"  Jimmy  declared.  "No 
white  man  could  suspect  a  black  man  of  such  intelli- 
gence. He  said  to  tell  you  his  mistress  would  do 
nothing." 

"Not  a  plumb  d — n  thing!"  said  Tim  Booker, 
fiercely,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Now  will  you  give  up 
that  girl?" 

"Nothing!"  the  Vagabond  repeated.  He  leaned 
over  and  patted  Breaker's  moist  neck  softly.  "Trick- 
ing policemen!"  he  added,  abruptly. 

Then  he  smiled  again,  as  he  saluted  the  com- 
mander of  the  patrol. 


440 


XLVIH 

MARCUS,    THE   STBATEGIST 

Tim  Booker's  secret  ambition  throughout  the  war 
had  been  to  have  some  individual  experiences  actually 
as  outlandish  as  those  his  imagination  conceived.  This 
chance  came  when  Sheridan  called  upon  the  Vaga- 
bonds for  a  volunteer  to  take  a  message  through  to 
Grant. 

"They  wouldn't  send  you  on  an  errand  like  this, 
Jimmy  Pool,"  said  Tim.  "It  takes  a  talker  to  get 
through  the  Confederate  lines."  And  in  a  suit  of 
jeans,  with  his  pockets  full  of  coffee  for  bribes,  he 
set  out.  The  prospect  of  the  yarns  he  could  tell  on 
his  journey  and  on  his  return  made  him  oblivious  of 
the  risk  he  was  taking.  Were  he  to  fall  he  was  deter- 
mined that  it  should  be  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  and 
an  artistic  whopper  on  his  lips. 

"Soon — very  soon!  Soon — very  soon!"  ran  the 
cadence  of  the  mud-larks  after  they  were  ready  to 
move,  and  they  rode  over  the  sodden  and  devastated 
land  back  to  Petersburg  in  that  memorable  time  when 
the  fierce,  red-bearded  man  had  all  but  finished  his 
long  march  through  the  heart  of  the  Confederacy  and 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac  waited  on  the  cavalry's 
coming  to  begin  the  movement  that  was  to  end  the 
war.  Even  a  trooper  of  '65  was  not  such  a  tireless 

441 


THE  VAGABOND 

machine  that  he  did  not  need  oiling  and  occasional  re- 
pairs. Where,  in  '62,  a  month  for  preparation  would 
have  been  expected,  all  that  the  little  Irishman  asked 
was  time  to  reshoe  the  horses  and  replace  equipment 
and  a  night's  unprovoked  sleep  for  his  men. 

Tim  Booker,  his  mission  having  been  amazingly 
successful,  nevertheless  met  his  fellow  Vagabonds 
with  a  feeling  of  shame. 

"I'm  not  to  blame,"  he  declared,  almost  piteously. 
"It's  that  confounded  Confederate  river.  Before  I'd 
seen  anybody  except  negroes  and  old  people  I  was 
taken  up  with  the  idea  of  riding.  Yes,  I,  who  have 
seen  the  world  and  the  eternal  hills  of  California, 
when  I  saw  a  boat  somebody  wasn't  using  I  got  into 
it  and  then  and  there  destroyed  all  my  chances  of  ad- 
venture. I  broke  an  oar,  I  smashed  the  bow  on  a  log, 
and  jumped  on  a  floating  stump.  And  there  I  was 
on  that  stump,  as  helpless  to  show  that  I  was  cut  out 
for  chivalrous  deeds  as  a  clerk  on  a  high  stool.  On 
both  sides  of  that  stream  was  plain  infantry,  and 
awful  tired  infantry  at  that;  but  the  current  must 
have  had  Jeb  Stuart's  soul  in  it,  the  way  it  charged. 
I  couldn't  steer  that  stump.  Where  it  went,  I  went. 
I  passed  Confederates,  lots  of  them,  and  when  they 
asked  me  where  I  was  going,  I  yelled  back  that  I  was 
marching  to  the  sea,  or  finding  a  new  way  of  breaking 
the  blockade.  Yes,  those  were  the  only  answers  I 
could  invent.  The  nervousness  of  my  position  sort 
of  dulled  my  brain.  I  kept  hoping  the  stump  would 
get  caught  on  a  root  at  a  bend,  and  I'd  still  have  a 
chance  to  show  the  metal  I  was  made  of.  If  it  did, 
it  pushed  off  in  an  ugly  kind  of  way,  like  a  woman 
that's  had  her  gown  stepped  on.  It  would  do  that. 

442 


THE    VAGABOND 

and  give  me  another  ducking  every  time  I  got  dried 
a  bit.  The  water  was  cold  and  the  wind  colder.  There 
I  sat  munching  the  coffee-beans — O  Lord !  what  stories 
I  was  going  to  tell  the  Johnnies  of  how  I  got  'em  out 
of  a  Yankee  general's  mess — yes,  there  I  sat  for 
twelve  hours,  till  I  was  landed  in  the  Union  lines 
F.  O.  B.  Why,  a  silent  man,  if  he'd  had  that  stump, 
could  have  done  the  thing  as  well  as  I." 

The  interval  of  rest  gave  the  Vagabond  an  oppor- 
tunity which  months  of  rigorous  campaigning  had 
denied  him.  He  took  the  first  train  for  Lanleyton. 
As  he  turned  from  the  road  into  the  drive,  he  stopped 
and  looked  long  and  steadily  at  the  creation  which  had 
made  him  realize  the  joy  of  possessing  money — that 
is,  the  joy  of  spending  it  on  another.  In  every  detail 
of  outward  construction  the  new  house  was  a  counter- 
part of  the  old ;  yet  nothing  could  replace  the  sobriety 
of  age  which  even  fresh  paint  on  a  wooden  surface 
cannot  entirely  conceal.  Felicia,  who  had  little 
dreamed  that  she  would  ever  take  charge  of  any 
white-pillared  mansion  but  her  own,  had  found  the 
work  the  happiest  of  her  life — if  we  except,  of  course, 
the  nursing  of  a  private  of  cavalry  whose  clay  pipe 
had  once  offended  her. 

"I've  worn  out  your  letters  studying  their  direc- 
tions," she  said,  when  he  had  reassured  her  of  her 
husband's  health,  "and  I  hope  I've  got  things  some- 
thing like  you  wanted  them." 

"Oh,  it  wouldn't  have  been  possible  at  all  except 
for  you,  aunt.  You  have  done  so  much  for  me,  and  I 
was  only  a  saucy,  impudent  little  beggar  that  wouldn't 
believe  in  you  at  all  at  first.  All  my  friends  have 

443 


THE    VAGABOND 

been  so  kind  and  loyal  that  sometimes  I  think  I'm 
quite  spoiled." 

"I  don't  know  of  anybody  who  will  stand  spoiling 
so  well,  except  the  Judge — the  General,  I  mean." 
(When  she  came  to  this  subject,  she  lost  sight  of 
others.)  "Billy,  do  you  think  I  <  jht  to  call  him 
the  .Tudge  or  the  General?" 

"Whichever  you  like  better." 

"I  think  I  like  the  General  better — while  the  war 
lasts,  at  any  rate.  There!  I'm  not  going  to  talk 
about  him  every  minute,  if  I  do  think  about  him  every 
minute.  Oh,  I've  had  a  tussle  with  these  negroes! 
All  they  do  is  to  sing  Miss  Yo's  praises.  There  are 
times  when  I  think  that  the  only  thing  is  to  thrash 
them;  but  they  say  she  never  did  that.  She  had  her 
own  way  of  punishing  them  by  appeals  to  their  shame 
and  pride.  How  I  do  admire  her — the  way  she  ac- 
cepted her  responsibility  without  preaching  about  it, 
as  John — the  General,  says.  If  you  have  any  sugges- 
tions, or  want  any  changes,  don't  hesitate  to  say  so, 
will  you?" 

"The  curbstone  was  a  little  farther  to  the  left,  and 
there  used  to  be  a  big  rattan  settee  here  on  the  porch. 
Jackson  (a  utility  man  that  he  had  employed  to  assist 
her)  can  get  one.  I'll  make  some  notes  of  orders  for 
him  to  fill." 

When  he  entered  the  drawing-room,  he  felt  a  shock 
which,  for  his  aunt's  sake,  he  tried  to  conceal.  Its 
resemblance  seemed  only  to  make  it  more  unlike  that 
of  his  memory.  The  old  furniture  could  not  be  re- 
produced, only  replaced,  he  warned  himself  as  prep- 
aration for  the  rest  of  the  interior. 

"Excellent!"  he  said,  sincerely;  for  it  was,  consid- 
444 


THE  VAGABOND 

ering.  Then  he  rearranged  some  of  the  chairs  deftly, 
recollection  or  instinct  prompting  him  to  put  two  be- 
fore the  fireplace.  "There  was  a  little  cabinet  by  that 
window.  They  kept  one  of  her  grandfather's  decora- 
tions and  some  i;ilylals  and  other  heirlooms  in  it.  Of 
course,  that  was  '  arned,  but  possibly  they  had  taken 
their  treasures  elsewhere.  We'll  have  Jackson  get 
another  cabinet.  There  was  a  low  Chippendale  chair, 
where  she  used  to  sit  sometimes  when  she  was  read- 
ing or  sewing.  "We  must  have  a  chair  like  it — like 
the  one  which  she  was  occupying  that  night  when  a 
wounded  Federal  fell  across  the  threshold  into  her 
arms." 

So  they  went  from  room  to  room,  he  praising  Feli- 
cia's kindness  and  taste,  and  making  suggestions  gen- 
tly, with  pathetic  touches  of  description,  explaining 
the  associations  when  new  articles  were  to  be  bought, 
unconscious  of  the  secret  which  his  manner  and  his 
words  were  betraying.  When  they  stood  on  the  porch 
and  he  was  ready  to  go,  she  said,  tenderly : 

"You  love  her,  Billy." 

"I — I  have  money  and  1  have  a  fancy — you  know 
my  weakness  for  fancies — and  I  want  to  repay  her 
for  saving  my  life,  and  make  such  reparation  as  dollars 
can  for  what  my  country  has  destroyed.  She  is  not 
to  know  that  I  built  it.  Remember,  it's  an  old  class- 
mate of  her  father's.  I — I" — then  he  looked  at  her 
pleadingly  and  cried :  "Don't !  Please,  don't !" 

Riding  away,  he  wondered  if,  after  all,  he  had  not 
done  a  clumsy  thing;  if  this  new  Lanleyton — overly 
new — would  only  make  the  loss  of  the  old  harder  for 
her  to  bear. 

445 


THE   VAGABOND 

From  the  moment  of  hearing  that  she  would  do 
nothing  to  rescue  him,  he  had  felt  as  he  had  when  he 
was  seven  days  from  camp  with  only  one  day's  rations 
left.  What  a  mockery  was  gold  without  food !  "What 
a  mockery  wag  love  such  as  his  when  its  object  would 
not  transcend  sectional  hatred  to  save  his  life !  In  his 
despondency  he  was  stupid,  so  stupid  that  it  had  not 
once  occurred  to  him  that  by  sending  his  sabre  to  her 
he  had  made  open  action  by  her  on  his  behalf  impos- 
sible. Its  loss  was  another  thing  that  set  heavily  on 
his  heart.  He  had  come  to  look  upon  it  as  the  fourth 
of  his  loyal  familiars,  ranking  after  Tim,  Jimmy,  and 
Breaker.  Had  she  given  it  to  some  Confederate 
trooper?  or  had  she  kept  it  as  a  souvenir  to  amuse 
Confederate  officers?  !N"o;  he  still  believed  in  her  too 
much  to  think  her  capable  of  that. 

The  note  that  he  had  written  to  her  distressed  him 
most.  His  rescue  had  given  it  the  bathos  of  the  death- 
bed heroics  of  a  puppy  recruit  who  thought  that  he 
was  dying,  only  to  find  himself  classed  by  the  surgeon 
among  the  "not  serious."  Over-exertion  contributed 
to  a  distorted  view  which  the  thoughts  of  the  new 
Lanleyton  had  begotten.  He  felt  that  he  had  only 
three  things  to  be  thankful  for,  his  friends  and  his 
good  horse  and  the  certainty  that  great  activity  was 
near  at  hand.  He  half  wished  that  the  war  might 
last  while  he  lasted.  He  now  dreaded  the  time  when 
it  should  be  over;  when  under  the  impulsion  of  his 
promise  and  his  passion  he  should  once  more  seek  her 
out.  Even  "I  shall  wait!  I  shall  hope!"  became  a 
mockery;  and  "I  shall  love  you  forever"  had  the  flavor 
of  bitterness  which  only  truth  and  ashes  can  give. 

That  night  he  had  two  hours'  sleep.  The  next  day 
446 


THE  VAGABOND 

he  was  a  part  of  the  final  campaign  of  the  Civil  "War, 
which  was  the  very  apotheosis  of  the  cavalry's 
skill  and  versatility  and  of  the  personality  of  the  little 
Irishman  who,  as  in  primitive  days  before  repeating 
rifles  and  great  combinations,  could  change  the  face 
of  battle  by  his  presence.  The  infantry-man's  cry  of 
"Who  ever  saw  a  dead  cavalry-man  ?"  that  rose  about 
every  horseman  at  the  beginning  of  the  war,  was  not 
heard  from  the  numerous  soldiery  which  held  thirty 
miles  of  works  and  all  winter  had  scowled  at  an  enemy 
from  two  to  five  hundred  yards  away.  Instead,  they 
shouted  their  plaudits  for  the  bully  boys  who  had 
made  good  all  their  promises. 

They  needed  no  telling  to  know  what  Sheridan's 
object  was.  He  was  going  to  make  a  turning  move- 
ment on  the  extreme  left,  while  they  who  had  waited 
so  long  were  still  to  hug  the  enemy's  line  as  if  it  were 
a  beggar's  crust  of  bread,  and  wherever  Uncle  Robert 
gave  ground  to  snap  up  the  advantage  and  greedily 
maintain  it.  The  Vagabond  had  a  moment's  talk  in 
passing  with  his  uncle,  a  hand-grasp  with  that  great 
corps  commander,  Huested  "the  Superb,"  as  his  men 
called  him,  whose  fame  every  defeat  and  every  vic- 
tory brightened.  So  often  in  the  first  year  of  the  war 
had  the  soldiers  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  talked  of 
entering  Richmond,  so  far  had  Richmond  seemed  in 
the  second,  so  much  farther  in  the  third,  that,  the 
great  hope  on  the  point  of  fulfilment,  from  supersti- 
tious awe  they  almost  feared  to  speak  their  belief. 

The  deserters  continually  slipping  across  the  narrow 
zone  that  separated  the  armies  all  told  the  same  story 
— of  a  lost  cause.  It  was  as  plain  to  the  teamster  as 
to  Grant  that  when  the  rains  had  ceased,  -when  artil- 

447 


THE    VAGABOND 

lery  and  wagons  could  be  moved,  Richmond  must  be 
abandoned;  and,  to  Grant,  at  least,  it  was  plain  that 
this  consummation  was  near  at  hand;  that  an  arm  of 
human  flesh  and  horse-flesh  must  be  thrown  across  the 
path  of  the  retreat  and  prevent  the  union  of  Lee's  and 
Johnston's  forces.  That  arm  was  Sheridan,  and  the 
Vagabond's  company  happened  to  be  one  of  the  fin- 
gers feeling  the  way  before  they  should  fall  back  on 
the  palm  and  the  knuckles  shoot  forward  for  the  last 
killing  blow,  in  the  battle  of  Five  Forks,  where  des- 
peration ran  high  on  both  sides  and  the  men  received 
and  gave  fire  as  if  bullets  were  sugar  pellets.  This 
was  the  Confederates'  final  effort  to  cut  their  way  out, 
the  swan  song  of  four  years'  struggle.  They  expected 
defeat,  and  made  the  cost  as  great  as  they  could. 
Death  was  counted  a  kindly  messenger  snatching 
them  from  the  picture  of  their  rifles  stacked  in  a  con- 
queror's camp. 

But  the  Federals  were  not  thinking  of  the  glory 
of  that  approaching  hour  and  the  superfluous  func- 
tion— such  is  the  nature  of  soldiers  drawn  from  farm 
and  shop  by  principle  and  then  tempered  by  rough 
practice.  They  were  thinking  that  they  might  be 
home  for  the  spring  ploughing,  or  back  at  the  forge 
before  the  honeysuckle  on  the  village  porches  was  in 
bloom.  They  were  thinking  of  the  long  life  stretch- 
ing before  them,  with  the  memory  of  gallant  deeds 
to  give  graceful  passage  of  time;  and  in  the  enthusi- 
asm of  the  picture  they  faced  death  with  more  aban- 
don than  ever  before.  The  very  nearness  of  peace 
gave  them  the  strength  for  the  final  thrust  which 
should  bring  a  sorry  business  to  an  end.  The  sweet- 
heart under  the  rose-bush,  the  child  (born  in  its 

448 


THE    VAGABOND 

father's  absence)  on  the  knee,  or  the  grave — and 
quick ! 

Sometimes  the  harder  won  that  realization  is,  the 
more  it  belies  florid  anticipation.  When  the  blue  ants 
swarmed  from  their  hills  over  the  unoccupied  breast- 
works which  had  bristled  with  death  a  few  hours  be- 
fore, they  were  not  plunged  at  all  into  the  frolicking 
triumph  which  they  had  promised  themselves  in  the 
fatuous  days  before  the  first  Bull  Run,  and  even  in 
the  Peninsula.  The  fact  itself  was  too  deep  a  triumph 
to  need  banners  or  red  fire.  A  riot  of  joy  would  have 
been  out  of  place  now;  making  sport  of  a  brother's 
grief,  or  the  grief  of  an  enemy  whose  virtues,  by  dint 
of  bloodshed,  had  made  him  once  more  kin.  They 
marched  on  in  chase  of  the  shattered  Confederacy, 
which,  with  the  path  to  Johnston  closed,  kept  on  mov- 
ing and  striking  back,  not  spitefully,  but  fitfully,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  leaving  dead  men,  tired  men, 
sick  men,  and  the  debris  of  war  in  its  wake,  until,  at 
Appomattox,  Grant  wrote  out  the  simple,  eloquent 
terms  of  surrender,  and  Lee  signed  them,  and  rode 
back  to  his  broken  army,  which  paid  him  the  greatest 
tribute  a  soldier  of  that  war  received  by  cheering  him 
as  heartily  with  the  last  breath  of  State  sovereignty 
as  it  had  in  the  dawn  of  the  struggle  with  the  lusty 
voice  of  the  stored  energy  of  long  peace  and  the  prom- 
ise of  separate  nationality. 

The  Vagabond's  company  had  seen  the  first  white 
flag  raised,  and  lowered  their  carbines,  knowing  that 
they  had  fired  their  last  shot.  "With  the  vanguard 
he  had  ridden  into  the  field  of  gray  and  butternut  rags 
that  covered  hearts  as  noble  in  failure  as  they  were 
brave  in  battle,  with  sabres  that  had  cut  flesh  and 

449 


THE  VAGABOND 

parried  steel  sheathed  in  harmony,  not  to  be  drawn 
again  except  in  a  common  cause.  Whoever  had  felt 
any  malice  lost  it  in  the  hand-grasp  of  a  foe  who  did 
not  sulk  over  the  inevitable.  His  men  chatted  with 
Stuart's  men  as  if  they  had  risen  from  the  whist-table 
instead  of  from  four  years'  carnage.  His  own  talk 
was  absently  given,  for  the  war  was  over  in  a  double 
sense  for  him.  Personally,  the  realization  was  ashes 
where  the  anticipation  had  been  flame.  That  which 
he  had  waited  for,  now  that  he  had  it,  seemed  air  in 
his  grasp.  The  great  day  at  hand,  he  had  not  the 
courage  to  doubt  her  answer.  He  concluded  that  he 
would  not  return  to  California.  Tim  and  Jimmy 
should  have  that  vanity,  his  mine,  and  he  would 
sever  himself  from  the  association  that  it  must  ever  call 
to  mind,  and  turn  his  face  to  new  ledges  and  follow  his 
vagabondish  fancy  wherever  it  called,  letting  to-mor- 
row take  care  of  itself  and  burying  yesterdays  in  the 
change  and  excitement  of  to-day.  No!  He  would 
not  torture  himself  again  with  the  sight  of  her.  He 
would  not  have  the  last  treasured  glimpse  that  of  dis- 
dain; rather  let  it  be  that  of  her  smile  as  they  had 
parted  after  her  impulse  had  carried  her  along  the 
road  in  his  company;  or  of  her  face  transfixed  with 
purpose  when  she  denied  his  identity  in  order  to  save 
his  life. 

While  his  thoughts  in  the  midst  of  rejoicing  ran 
thus,  his  friends,  who  had  known  little  of  the  truth, 
who  had  thought  of  this  girl  as  the  cause  of  his 
escapades,  for  his  sake,  as  they  understood  it,  were 
withholding  a  secret  that  would  have  made  hope 
mount  in  song  to  his  temples.  A  glimpse  of  a  black 
face  going  in  and  out  among  the  holiday  crowd  of 

450 


THE  VAGABOND 

soldiery  made  him.  oblivious  of  all  save  one  idea.  If 
Marcus  Aurelius  were  here,  then  his  mistress  must  be 
also.  Never  had  the  Vagabond  seen  him  looking  so 
miserable  and  flustered.  Never  had  he  seen  in  his 
eyes  before  the  latent  savagery  of  Africa ;  for  the  old 
man  was  in  a  tempest  of  rage  and  dismay. 

"Yo'se  de  man  I'se  been  lookin'  fur  in  dis  hyah 
mess  o'  foolishness.  Now's  yo'  chance,  an'  yo'  ain'  got 
any  time  t'  lose.  To'  Gord,  I'se  shivered  an'  lied; 
I'se  been  sassed  by  fiel'-han's;  I'se  rid  a  mule  tell  I 
wuz  raw;  I'se  brekfusted  on  faith,  dined  on  hope, 
an'  supped  on  char'ty,  an'  slep'  in  a  mud-hole  or  hang- 
in'  t'  a  peg,  an'  I'se  been  glad  t'  do  it — dat's  a  sar- 
vant's  duty.  I'se  been  glad  t'  do  it,  seh,  'slong's  de 
white  fo'ks  play  dyah  part.  I'se  stuck  t'  my  missus 
frough  de  war,  but  I'll  nuver  do  it  now,  nuver,  nuver, 
nuver!"  he  protested,  vigorously,  as  if  reassuring  him- 
self. "She  done  gwine  wid  Marse  Soufbridge.  He's 
not  give  up.  He's  gwine  'way  t'  Mexico  an'  heath'n 
countries  t'  keep  on  fightin'  fur  fightin's  sake.  He's 
a-ridin'  Folly,  an'  she's  in  a  ole  ker'ige — dey's  out 
dyah  on  de  road  a-gwine  t'  perdition! 

"  To'  Gord,  don'  blame  me !  I'se  done  all  a  sarvunt 
could.  'Look  hyah,'  says  I,  'we  ain'  licked;  no,  seh' — 
an'  we  ain',  Mistah  Yankee  (this  to  the  Vagabond). 
'How  can  we  be  licked  when  Marse  Robert  come  rid- 
in'  back  from  dat  are  meetin'  wid  dat  man  Grant  a- 
lookin'  jes'  ez  cahm  ez  uver,  jes'  ez  ef  he  won  ?'  No, 
seh,  yo'  can  n'  lick  Marse  Robert.  He  jes'  stop  dis 
war  'cause  he  t'ink  de  foolishness  gwine  far  nuff  an' 
'cause  he  show  de  Yanks  dat  one  Confed'rate  can  lick 
th'ee  Yanks  an'  de  trubble  is  he  can  n'  quite  lick  fo'. 
'An',  Missy,'  I  says,  'Marcus  he  done  he  duty ;  yo'  do 

451 


THE  VAGABOND 

yo'se.  Yo'  duty's  t'  go  back  t'  Lanleyton  an'  bull'  a 
new  house  an'  look  arfter  de  fool  niggers  dat's  foolish- 
er'n  uver  now  dey's  got  dyah  heads  full  o'  Yankee 
notions.  De  Yankees  can  n'  tek  yo'  Ian'  'way  from 
yo'.  Dat's  property,  an'  property's  property.  It's  yo' 
ancestahs'  property;  it's  yo'  duty.'  And  she  says, 
'Dyah  ain'  no  mo'  Lanleyton;  dyah  am'  no  mo'  Fir- 
ginia.  I'm  an  outcas'  who  goes  whither  de  win' 
bloweth.'  " 

"But  the  house  can  be  rebuilt,"  suggested  the 
Vagabond,  knowing  that  Marcus  would  know  if  his 
mistress  had  heard  of  the  new  one. 

The  old  man's  manner  quite  disabused  him  on  that 
score. 

"I  tell  her  dat.  To'  Gord,  I  don'  t'ink  she's  in  her 
right  min'.  I  tell  her  she  an'  I  mus'  part  ef  she's 
gwine  t'  be  so  foolish,  an'  she  say,  'Go,  Marcus;  yo'se 
free;  dyah's  no  reason  why  yo'  should  stay.  Yo' 
frien's,  de  Yankees,  mek  yo'  free.'  Dat  mos'  mek 
me  melt;  but  my  duty  sen'  me  hyah.  Now's  yo' 
chance,  yo'  las'  chance.  Yo'  go  t'  her  an'  maybe, 
maybe  yo'  kin  save  her.  Ef  yo'  don'  go,  she  gwine 
do  some'n'  she  al'ays  be  sorry  fur,  'cause  she's  jes'  all 
flustahed  out  her  senses.  She  a-gwine  t'  marry  dat 
are  man  Soufbridge  'cause  he  fit  on  her  side,  an'  'cause 
she  done  prumise  him  an  ansah  arfter  de  war.  It's  yo' 
las'  chance.  Yo'  go  t'  her  an'  don'  yo'  mince  mattahs 
an'  say,  'By  yo'  will.' 

"Yo'se  a  Yank,  an'  Soufbridge's  a  Confed'rate. 
'Taiu'  dat ;  it's  de  man,  an'  yo'se  my  man.  Yo'  hit 
dat  Soufbridge  'tween  de  eyes,  an'  den  tek  'im  down 
in  de  mud  an'  sit  on  'im  a  while.  'Twill  do  'im  good; 
'twill  teach  'im  dat  when  Marse  Robert  say  de  war's 

452 


THE  VAGABOND 

over,  de  fightin'  time's  over,  too.  Jes'  a  good  thrash- 
in'  t'  tek  'im  out  o'  de  pouts.  An'  yo'  jes'  tu'n  her 
ker'ige  roun'  an'  tek  her  straight  back  t'  Lanleyton, 
jes'  ez  ef  yo'  hed  a  right  to,  widout  doin'  anyt'ing 
'cept  t'  smile — yo'  knows  how  t'  smile — 'cept  t'  smile 
at  her  fool  talk!" 

"When — when  she  did  nothing  to  save  me!  Mar- 
cus, you  don't  understand !"  the  Vagabond  said. 

"Nuttin'  t'  save  yo' !  Dat's  what  she  made  me  tell 
fo'ks  so  yo'  wouldn'  do  no  mo'  foolishness.  Nuttin' 
t'  save  yo' !  I  tol'  dem  lieutenants  dat  she  said  t'  say 
she  done  nuttin'.  Dat's  like  fool  sowgers!  All  dey 
knows  is  t'  'bey  orders.  Yo'd  have  t'  wink  like  a  barn- 
door a-op'nin'  'fo'  dey'd  tek  a  hint.  Nuttin'  t'  save 
yo'!  She  did  it  all.  Yo'  fool  note!  Yo'  los'  yo' 
senses.  To'  de  Lawd,  dese  white  fo'ks — but  I  can  n* 
go  runnin'  on  in  any  mo'  talk.  Yo'  let  me  have  one 
o'  yo'  hawses.  Yo'  come  'long;  come  'long!" 

So  they  set  off  together. 


453 


XLIX 

A  CHOICE   OF   FUTUBES 

Having  passed  the  main  body  of  the  Confederates, 
they  proceeded  at  a  rapid  pace  along  the  road  Marcus 
had  indicated. 

"Dey  am'  no  time  t'  be  los',  'cause  dat  are  man 
Soufbridge  mout  get  de  fus'  parson  he  fin'  an'  have 
it  all  over  'fo'  Missy  Vo  blow  col'.  I  don'  know,  I 
don'  know.  I  'spec  dat  I'll  go  wid  her  anyhow.  She's 
all  dat's  lef  o'  de  fam'ly,  an'  I  b'longs  t'  de  fam'ly." 

"Have  you  heard  anything  from  Lanleyton  lately?" 
The  Vagabond's  question  was  significant  of  the  fear 
still  running  in  his  mind. 

"Hyahed  anyt'ing?  Good  Lawd,  what  is  dyah  t' 
hyah?  Ev'yt'ing's  bu'n'  down.  Yo'  don'  hyah  any- 
t'ing from  de  middle  o'  de  Dead  Sea!  I  reckon  not." 

This  reassurance  left  no  doubt  that  she  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  new  house ;  for  more  than  ever  he  felt  that 
if  she  were  to  be  his,  it  must  be  for  himself  alone.  His 
love  must  be  returned  with  love  as  single-minded,  else 
it  were  better  that  each  go  his  way ;  and  in  that  event 
a  sense  of  indebtedness  to  him  would  be  torture  for 
her.  No  expedient,  no  bribe,  no  false  persuasion,  only 
one  grand,  enduring  passion  could  justify  the  union 
of  their  natures ;  that  for  her  sake  as  well  as  his ;  that 
in  the  name  of  his  fancy,  which  preferred  starvation 
to  a  morsel. 

454 


THE    VAGABOND 

This  new  condition  of  saving  her  from  impetuous 
folly  regardless  of  whether  she  was  to  be  his  or  an- 
other's was  a  part  with  the  surprises  that  had  played 
havoc  with  all  his  plans  where  she  was  concerned.  A 
Union  officer  going  to  propose  to  a  Confederate  girl 
whom  he  had  met  only  once  was  more  in  keeping  with 
the  formalities  than  a  Union  officer  going  as  a  coun- 
sellor to  reason  with  a  Confederate  girl  whom  defeat 
and  care  and  hatred  of  his  side  had  made  reckless. 
Why  should  he  interfere  against  Southbridge?  Might 
she  not  love  him  after  all?  His  only  justifiable  excuse 
for  the  journey  was  to  save  her  from  a  man  of  violent 
passions  and  prejudices,  who  would  lead  her  into 
strange  lands  and  strange  brawls  and  grief  and  mis- 
fortune; to  assure  her  the  time  and  rest  required  for 
clear  judgment.  But  how?  Whatever  his  advice, 
would  not  the  sum  of  it  be,  in  her  ears,  "You  had  bet- 
ter go  back  to  your  home  which  we  burned,  and  your 
lands  which  we  kindly  devastated  for  you!"  Was  it 
within  the  range  of  feminine  humility  for  her  to  listen 
to  him  at  all?  How  complex  this  new  duty  beside  the 
simple  task  he  had  set  for  himself  through  the  grind- 
ing years  of  warfare,  when  this  happy  day  of  peace 
should  come!  If  once  a  stare  had  tongue-tied  him, 
why  not  now,  with  a  better  cause? 

When,  from  the  crest  of  a  knoll,  they  saw  a  rickety 
carriage,  with  a  man  riding  beside  it,  and  he  heard 
Marcus's  delighted  words  of  recognition  whispered  in 
his  ear,  he  concluded  that,  above  all,  he  was  not  so 
made  as  to  shine  as  a  counsellor  of  dour  mien. 

"Praise  de  Lawd!  Yo'se  got  yo'  head  out  o'  de 
vinegar  bar'l !  I  wuz  worrited.  Yo'  an'  her  don'  look 
right  'less  yo'  smile — an'  she  ain'  smile  fur  months. 

455 


THE    VAGABOND 

Yo'  jes'  look  at  her,  de  way  yo'  can,  yo'  scrumptious 
devil  of  a  Yankee,  yo'!" 

"Follow;  I'll  lead,"  the  Vagabond  said,  riding  on. 

He  felt  already  quite  relieved,  with  all  his  pros  and 
cons  behind  him.  He  was  going  into  action;  and 
action  always  blessed  him  with  good-humor  and  self- 
possession. 

Looking  over  his  shoulder  on  hearing  horsemen  ap- 
proach, Southbridge  recognized  his  old  enemy.  They 
were  on  opposite  sides  of  the  road,  Southbridge  abreast 
of  the  carriage,  the  Vagabond  twenty  yards  away. 

"Good-morning!"  said  the  new-comer,  pleasantly; 
and  the  Confederate  made  no  reply  except  a  glare. 
All  his  hatred  of  this  Yankee  was  wrapped  up  with 
his  love  of  the  woman  whom  he  thought  was  now  his. 
The  Vagabond  urged  his  horse  forward  until  he  could 
look  under  the  tattered  carriage-cover  at  her  face. 
Her  little  cry  of  surprise  was  followed  by  the  angry 
call:  "Go  back,  or  I'll  shoot  you  dead!"  and  he  looked 
up  into  the  muzzle  of  Southbridge's  revolver. 

"I  fought  you  once  in  the  open  and  gave  you  back 
your  sabre,"  the  Vagabond  returned.  "A  second 
time,  I  directed  my  men  not  to  fire  on  you,  as  you 
were  swimming  a  river.  I  have  something  to  say  to 
Miss  Lanley.  If  you  wish  to  kill  me,  go  ahead !" 

"No,  no,  Jefferson,"  she  said,  deprecatingly.  "It  is 
not  worth  while,  really." 

Southbridge  lowered  his  weapon.  The  Vagabond 
moved  forward  till  his  spur  touched  the  forward  wheel 
of  the  carriage,  which  the  driver  had  stopped.  When 
again  he  glanced  at  Volilla  he  still  had  the  fear  of  her 
power  to  silence  him  with  a  look  or  a  word.  Though 
her  riding-habit  was  threadbare,  she  had  that  innate 

456 


THE    VAGABOND 

distinction  of  person  which  made  her  always  seem 
well  dressed;  her  adorable  hair,  arranged  without  a 
mirror,  paid  a  compliment  to  her  deft  fingers  which  a 
lady's-maid  might  have  envied.  He  saw  in  her  eyes 
only  the  indifference  and  the  pride  of  despair.  She 
had  been  one  who  believed  in  the  South's  invincibility 
to  the  last  moment.  She  was  still  dazed  by  the  mis- 
fortune and  overcome  with  the  reaction  from  the  long 
strain.  Southbridge's  offer  to  take  her  away  from  the 
heart-breaking  scene  of  her  country's  undoing,  and  his 
words  of  contempt  for  surrendering  as  long  as  there 
was  a  rifle  left  and  a  mountain-fastness  for  a  covert, 
had  been  sweet  to  her  ears. 

"I  have  come,  you  see,  as  I  said  I  would  when  the 
war  was  over,  but  on  a  different  basis  than  I  ex- 
pected," the  Vagabond  said.  "I  have  come  to  find 
that  perhaps  I  am  not  the  only  one  who  has  made  a 
journey  on  impulse." 

There  his  sentence  was  cut  short  by  the  stinging 
blow  of  Southbridge's  glove  across  the  face.  A  red 
welt  was  rising  on  his  cheek.  He  could  feel  his  flesh 
quivering  as  it  did  when  he  was  waiting  under  fire 
for  orders  to  charge. 

"The  time  for  passion  has  passed.  Please  hear  me 
out,"  he  started  to  say,  and  then  raised  his  hand  in 
time  to  receive  the  second  blow  on  its  back. 

"As  you  wish,"  he  replied.  "Not  here,  I  hope." 
He  nodded  toward  Volilla. 

"Yonder,"  said  Southbridge.    "Behind  that  knoll." 

"Not  that!  Oh,  not  that!" — but  she  saw  how 
useless  was  her  protest,  by  a  glance  at  their  flushed 
faces.  Then  she  looked  at  the  Vagabond  alone.  "Am 
I  to  be.  always  under  obligations  to  you?  I  must — I 

457 


THE    VAGABOND 

must  ask  a  Yankee — please  don't  kill  him!  Please 
only  disarm  him!" 

To  one  this  meant  that  she  was  interested  in  the 
safety  of  the  other  alone.  To  the  other  it  was  a  whirl- 
ing dagger  boring  into  the  core  of  his  pride. 

"You  can  always  command  me,"  said  the  Vaga- 
bond. "While  you  wait,  I  ask  you  to  think  of  your 
grandfather's,  your  father's,  Richard  Bulwer's,  your 
aunt's  opinion  of  what  you  are  about  to  do." 

Side  by  side,  as  if  they  were  friends  on  a  morning 
jaunt,  the  pair  rode  across  the  fields. 

"Not  with  the  horses,  this  time,"  said  the  Federal, 
as  he  threw  his  foot  over  the  saddle.  "I  may  do  as  I 
will  with  myself,  but  I  have  no  right  to  endanger  the 
life  of  one  who  has  served  me  so  well,  now  that  peace 
is  here.  And  yours?  He,  too,  is  no  part  of  our 
quarrel." 

"No.  I  had  no  idea  of  risking  Folly,"  said  the 
Confederate. 

He  dismounted  and  removed  his  coat  and  hat,  while 
the  Vagabond  did  the  same.  Then  they  unbuckled 
their  belts  and  unsheathed  their  sabres.  The  harmony 
of  their  movements  incidental  to  the  swift  and  essential 
preparation  seemed  part  of  a  rehearsed  performance. 
But  a  sight  of  their  faces  would  have  destroyed  any 
such  illusion.  Southbridge's  was  mottled  with  the 
purple  of  his  anger  and  the  distended  veins  flickered 
with  the  pounding  of  his  heart.  Reason  against  such 
a  rage  as  his  was  like  turning  a  siphon  on  a  furnace. 
The  man  before  him  stood  for  the  North  which  had 
beaten  down  the  South  as  relentlessly,  if  as  slowly,  aa 
the  turning  of  a  screw;  stood  for  that  moment  ever 
burning  in  his  memory  when  he  had  been  disarmed 

458 


THE  VAGABOND 

in  front  of  the  Lanlay  house,  and  all  the  mockeries 
which  hated  lips  had  framed  sang  in  his  ears.  Vic- 
tory would  wipe  out  the  stain  on  his  own  escutcheon ; 
it  would  atone  for  his  country's  defeat  and  send  him 
forth  to  new  fields  of  adventure  with  a  boaster's  con- 
fidence. 

This  time  the  Vagabond  was  not  smiling.  He  was 
disgusted  and  bitter.  All  day  his  heart  had  been 
beating  with  good  wishes  for  every  boy  in  gray.  He 
had  gloried  over  the  prospect  of  the  return  of  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  men  to  earning  and  building 
instead  of  spending  and  fighting.  He  had  wished  that 
his  mine  was  large  enough  to  give  every  idle  one  a 
place.  It  was  well  that  he  was  tired  of  the  business 
of  killing  his  fellow-men ;  well,  in  order  that  he  might 
have  the  courage  to  risk  his  own  life  and  so  allow  his 
adversary  to  ride  away  to  a  wedding  with  the  girl  of 
his  heart. 

"This  is  not  of  my  doing,"  he  said,  as  they  lifted 
their  blades  in  salute  in  signal  of  readiness. 

"No  feints  will  avail  you  now!"  Southbridge  cried; 
and  the  Vagabond's  heart,  if  not  his  set  lips,  an- 
swered :  "I  will  not  wait  on  that !" 

This  time  he  was  not  in  the  mood  to  play  for  his 
opening.  He  sprang  to  meet  Southbridge's  circling 
cut  and  the  two  sabres  rang  dully  with  the  contact 
of  edge  against  edge.  Flashes  and  quivering  gleams 
played  above  them  as  they  moved  around  each  other, 
striking  more  in  desperation  than  in  skill,  neither  of- 
fering to  the  other  the  chance  of  a  thrust  in  their 
mad  contest  of  strength  and  will.  Every  blow,  had  it 
not  been  parried,  could  have  split  the  heads  which 
were  fenced  in  by  the  snapping  lights  from  the  steel. 

459 


THE  VAGABOND 

The  Vagabond  could  see  that  the  first  shoots  of  grass 
were  carpeting  the  knoll  with  green;  the  sky  was  a 
soft  blue;  near  by  was  a  peach-tree  in  blossom.  He 
thought  of  his  mountain,  his  mine,  and  the  girl;  of 
work  yet  to  be  done ;  of  obstacles  yet  to  be  overcome ; 
of  the  joy  of  living  and  doing.  Of  a  sudden,  full- 
winged  illusion  whispered  to  him  that  he  was  fighting 
for  the  place  in  her  heart  that  he  craved ;  of  a  sudden, 
his  rain  of  blows  became  a  torrent.  The  might  of 
triumphant  fancy,  giving  strength  to  a  right  arm,  bore 
Southbridge  to  his  knee  and  left  him  trembling  with 
exhaustion  and  shame,  his  sabre  once  more  his  ene- 
my's trophy.  He  reached  for  his  revolver,  as  if  he 
would  do  murder,  and  found  his  wrist  in  a  vise. 

"That  is  unworthy  of  you,"  said  the  Vagabond. 
"You  have  lost.  You  are  weary — ill,  perhaps — think 
what  you  are  doing!" 

"No — I — I  did  not  mean  to  shoot.". 

The  Vagabond  gave  back  the  sabre.  He  offered  his 
hand;  but  Southbridge  shook  his  head. 

"I  can't!    I  can't!" 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  the  Vagabond.  "I'm  sorry  I  had 
to  disarm  you." 

"You've  won,"  Southbridge  rejoined,  after  he  had 
put  on  his  coat.  "Please  take  her  horse  back.  I'll 
— I'll  cut  across  lots  on  foot." 

"No,  please.  What  does  it  count  if  I  have  won? 
Is  that  any  argument?  Let  us  return  together,  and 
continue  the  discussion  where  we  left  it  off.  She 
need  not  know  which  was  beaten." 

So  they  rode  back  as  if  they  were  friends  returning 
from  their  jaunt,  Southbridge  with  his  head  bowed, 
and  the  Vagabond  looking  straight  ahead. 

460 


THE  VAGABOND 

"I  knew  that  you  would  win — you  always  win! 
That's  the  horror  of  you!"  Volilla  said.  "I — I  knew 
there  was  no  danger."  But  her  white  face  belied  her 
confidence. 

"Have  you  considered?"  the  Vagabond  asked. 

"Yes.  My  duty  has  come  to  me  in  a  flash,  as  it 
often  does.  I  want  you  to  understand — both  to  un- 
derstand— that  your  brutal  duel  has  nothing  to  do 
with  my  decision.  Jefferson,  the  Yankees  cannot 
take  away  our  lands  or  our  pride  and  our  responsi- 
bilities. Our  slaves,  our  old  house-servants — they 
may  be  free,  but  I  know  they  will  not  give  us  up. 
They  need  us !  Virginia  is  ours !  Lanleyton  is  mine ! 
I  am  going  back  to  it.  Your  duty,  too,  is  to  your 
people  and  your  State.  It  is  no  time  to  think  of  what 
you  propose." 

"You  are  going  back  with  him  ?"  said  Southbridge, 
steadily,  nodding  toward  the  Vagabond. 

"Alone ;  with  you,  or  with  both.  One  cannot  always 
choose  his  companions  on  a  journey.  I  shall  have  to 
depend  upon  the  enemy  for  transportation.  They 
have  everything.  When  I  get  to  Lanleyton,  though, 
that  is  my  castle,  and  I  can  dispense  with  escorts.  If 
an  outbuilding  remains,  I  can  live  in  that.  If  not, 
then  with  the  Bulwers.  I  shall  try  to  meet  the  debts — • 
I  will  stick  to  my  guns.  I  will  not  give  up  Lanley- 
ton!" 

"Both!"  Southbridge  threw  out  the  word  with  a 
full  breath  of  disgust.  Dismounting  from  Folly,  he 
handed  the  reins  to  Marcus.  "I  bow  the  knee  to  no 
conqueror,"  he  added.  "I'm  not  going  to  throw  in 
my  lot  with  a  subject  race!" 

"We  are  not  conquerors.     We " 

461  < 


THE  VAGABOND 

"Worse!"  cut  in  Soutlibridge.  Then  his  old,  florid 
politeness  returned.  He  lifted  his  frayed  hat  with  its 
bedraggled  feather  and  swept  the  ground.  Setting  it 
back  on  his  head,  he  bowed  to  the  Vagabond, 

"Good-morning!"  he  said,  nonchalantly. 

Up  the  road  he  strode,  on  his  way  to  that  career 
•which  ended  in  a  Central  American  revolution. 


462 


BACK    TO    LAITLEYTOIT 

In  silence  both,  watched  the  stalwart  figure,  whose 
bearing  seemed  to  express  the  nature  of  the  man,  until 
it  was  out  of  sight.  Then,  some  strange  diffidence 
would  not  permit  him  to  look  at  her.  He  patted 
Breaker's  neck,  as  he  sought  for  words,  while  she  re- 
lieved the  awkward  silence  by  saying,  naturally: 

"I'll  ride  Folly,  driver.  Put  on  my  saddle,"  which 
lay  on  the  box. 

"You  needn't  step  into  the  road.  You  can  mount 
where  you  are,"  the  Vagabond  interposed.  He  pulled 
down  the  carriage-top  and  the  driver  swung  Folly's 
flank  against  the  wheel. 

"A  little  dressing  wouldn't  be  amiss,  though  this 
has  the  virtue  of  being  fresh,"  and  she  stuck  out  the 
tip  of  a  mud-covered  boot  "I'll  endeavor  to  be 
good-natured,  if  you'll  only  promise  not  to  talk  of 
the  past."  She  smiled  wanly.  "There,"  pointing  to 
the  seat,  "that's  all  the  baggage  I  have.  Your  sol- 
diers got  the  rest."  He  laid  his  hand  on  a  long  parcel 
done  up  in  paper,  and  felt  the  curving  brass  of  a 
sabre's  guard  through  the  wrapping.  "As  it's  yours, 
you  might  as  well  keep  it,"  she  said,  disinterestedly. 
"I  really  don't  want  a  trophy  that's  been  dipped  in 
the  blood  of  our — oh,  pardon !  We're  not  to  think  of 
the  past.  For  my  part,  I  must  not,  or  I  fear  I  would 
put  the  whip  to  Folly  and  fly  from  duty." 

Thus,  with  her  concluding  words,  she  lamed  and 
468 


THE  VAGABOND 

blinded  the  joy  that  her  first  gave  him.  On  the  point 
of  opening  the  package,  he  desisted,  and  laid  it  across 
his  saddle-horn,  as  if  it  were  no  more  than  a  stick  of 
wood  and  not  his  living  blade.  He  wanted  to  ask  her 
if  she  had  received  his  note;  he  wanted,  there  and 
then,  to  open  the  flood-gates  of  his  affection  as  he  had 
planned.  Her  manner  forbade.  It  was  that  of  a 
woman  in  distress  trying  to  be  cheerful  to  a  stranger, 
and  nothing  more. 

"You  will  drive  on  as  fast  as  you  can,  and  overtake 
Colonel  Southbridge,"  she  said  to  the  driver.  "It  was 
he  who  got  the  carriage,  and  he  may  need  it.  Cer- 
tainly, he  will  need  his  saddle." 

The  driver  nodded,  and  the  old  vehicle  creaked,  and 
began  careening  through  the  mud. 

As  they  turned  their  horses'  heads  to  the  east,  Mar- 
cus, who,  fearing  lest  his  presence  should  be  preju- 
dicial, had  watched  the  progress  of  events  from  a  dis- 
tance, came  riding  toward  them. 

"Missy!  Missy!"  came  chokingly  from  his  lips, 
while  the  tears  flowed.  "Missy!  Missy!  I'd  come! 
I'd  come!  I  couldn't  he'ped  it!"  he  said,  as  he  fell 
in  behind  them.  "I'se  so  glad,  so  glad!  Oh,  Missy, 
Missy!" 

Though  within  a  few  miles  of  the  two  armies,  they 
had  the  road  to  themselves,  except  for  straggling  Con- 
federates who  had  not  waited  on  formality  to  start  for 
home.  When  the  Vagabond  looked  toward  her,  out 
of  the  tail  of  his  eye,  she  was,  on  her  part,  looking 
straight  ahead,  seemingly  as  unconscious  of  his  pres- 
ence as  he  was  conscious  of  hers. 

"Folly  is  in  marvellously  good  condition,"  he  re- 
marked, at  length. 

464 


THE    VAGABOND 

"Yes.  That's  the  one  thing  I've  got  to  be  thankful 
for.  He's  the  greatest  veteran  of  all."  She  patted  his 
neck,  and  one  ear  wagged  back  and  he  champed  his 
bits  in  return.  "Your  horse  seems  to  have  been 
equally  fortunate." 

"Oh,  he's  been  on  the  winning  side.  He's  had  an 
easier  time." 

"But  that's  the  war!  Let  us  not  start  to  talk  of 
that,  please,"  she  rejoined;  "please!"  she  repeated, 
almost  abjectly. 

"Pardon!" 

Then  silence,  except  for  the  plunk  of  the  hoofs  in 
mud  and  a  mumbling  from  Marcus's  lips: 

"She's  jes'  a  little  da'k,  an'  he's  fair  an'  he's  all 
hones'  all  de  way  frough,  an'  she's  all  gentleness  an' 
pride;  an'  he's  jes'  a  ha'f  a  head  taller'n  her — my! 
dey's  jes'  de  mos'  scrumptious  couple!  Ef  I  can  see 
'em  mek  it  up  an'  a  new  house  built,  an'  I  can  op'n 
de  dinin'-room  doahs  an'  'nounce  dinnah  like  I  did  in 
de  ole  days,  I'se  ready  t'  drop  dead,  fur  I'll  be  in 
heaven  already." 

The  Vagabond  continued  to  glance  at  her  now  and 
then  to  make  sure  of  the  reality.  Her  very  presence 
seemed  to  fill  the  erstwhile  empty  cup  of  his  spirits 
to  brimming.  All  his  fancies  returned  in  the  luxury 
of  imagined  fulfilment,  even  to  the  great  house  and 
the  broad  acres  and  "ours !" 

"Peace  means  that  I  am  going  back  to  the  mine," 
he  said,  as  if  she  were  truly  interested  in  his  affairs. 
"You  can't  imagine  how  much  better  I  like  that. 
Breaker  here  will  be  treated  as  if  he  were  heir  to  a 
throne.  I'm  going  to  take  all  the  good  fellows  in  my 
company  that  haven't  positions  at  home,  out  with  me. 

465 


THE    VAGABOND 

I  want  to  see  every  man  of  them  doing  well.  There'll 
be  many  changes.  Things  haven't  run  just  as  they 
might  while  I  was  away.  Once  they're  going  well, 
we'll  have  to  see  Europe — Jimmy,  Tim,  and  I,  I 
mean — we  can't  take  you,  Breaker.  You  couldn't 
read  the  guide-books.  Think  of  it  I  I'm  twenty-five 
years  old,  and  I  have  seen  scarcely  anything  of  the 
world." 

"It  is  nice  to  have  money,"  she  replied,  censori- 
ously; "but  there  are  other  things." 

"Yes,  there  is  mercy,  justice,  goodness,  health, 
beauty,  happiness,  and  youth.  Money  means  to  me 
that  I  can  see  a  new  place.  Money  means  that  you 
can  give  happiness  to  someone  whose  happiness  makes 
yours.  It  means  duty.  To  the  North,  at  this  mo- 
ment, it  should  mean  that,  above  all  things.  We 
fought  to  make  you  stay  in  the  family,  and  now  we 
should  help  to  rebuild  your  altars." 

"There  is  plenty  of  sentiment  in  Boston,  they  say," 
she  rejoined.  "What  a  fine  fire  our  house  made !  But 
we  are  coming  back  to  the  war.  Is  it  fair  for  you  to 
explain?  Would  you  offer  balm  on  the  tip  of  the 
blade  that  made  the  wound?  I — I'm  not  expected  to 
say  that,  though." 

"When  our  great  President  was  at  City  Point  less 
than  a  month  ago,  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  every  reason 
for  elation.  The  war  was  as  good  as  over.  His  vic- 
tory was  won.  He  is  the  idol  of  the  people.  Yet 
everyone  remarked  how  sad  he  was.  He  was  not 
thinking  of  triumph.  He  was  thinking  of  the  cost  in 
blood;  of  the  greater  work  yet  before  him;  of  making 
the  country  whole  again — 'with  malice  toward  none 
and  charity  for  all/  " 

466 


THE  VAGABOND 

"Charity!"  she  repeated,  her  voice  sounding  like  a 
distant  bell.  "Charity  for  Virginia!" 

They  reached  the  crest  of  a  little  hill,  and  before 
them,  with  Appomattox  Court  House  for  its  centre, 
were  the  two  armies.  On  the  side  toward  them  the 
field  was  the  subdued  tone  of  gray  and  butternut  and 
the  earth  itself ;  the  farther  side  was  blue,  and  in  the 
centre,  the  zone  across  which  only  death  and  pris- 
oners had  been  exchanged  had  given  place  to  a  med- 
ley in  common  ecstasy  over  the  end.  She  kept  to  his 
side,  making  no  comment,  let  alone  protest,  as  they 
threaded  their  way  through  the  maze  of  the  road, 
foot-soldiers  and  wagon-drivers  making  room  for  a 
beautiful  woman  who  rode  as  grandly  as  Uncle  Rob- 
ert. When  they  came  to  the  park  of  artillery  and 
the  long  lines  of  stacked  rifles,  which  were  the  only 
booty  of  a  great  war  for  a  principle,  he  said : 

"You  must  not  look  at  that  I" 

But  of  course  she  did,  womanlike.  The  sight  of 
this  outward  show  of  defeat,  to  his  surprise,  did  not 
seem  to  depress  her.  She  drew  rein  and  surveyed  it 
from  end  to  end  with  the  first  real  smile  on  her  face 
that  he  had  seen  for  three  years. 

"This  is  all — all  that  your  millions  of  Yankees 
have  taken?"  she  said,  mockingly,  as  she  glanced  up 
at  him.  "See  how  clean  their  rifles  and  guns  are! 
Then  look  at  them  themselves !  Bent  old  men  and  un- 
developed boys,  in  their  rags,  unfed,  never  paid! 
Look  at  your  men!  Good  shoes,  good  clothes,  well 
fed  and  paid !  It  took  so  many  of  you  to  whip  so  few 
of  us!  I  am  very  proud  of  my  country!  I  would 
rather  have  lost  all  and  served  on  this  side  than  on 
yours.  But  come,  Folly,  we  are  on  the  war  again." 
"  467 


THE  VAGABOND 

In  the  Union  lines  they  heard  the  same  talk  as  they 
had  in  the  Confederate — of  home  and  its  concerns. 
There  was  little  of  the  professional  lingering  over  de- 
tails of  a  regular  force,  with  barrack  life  before  them. 
Two  great,  skilful  armies  would  melt  away  into  indus- 
try, and  where  to-day  were  reveille  and  taps,  to-mor- 
row would  be  only  the  calls  of  individual  will.  The 
officers  who  had  learned  how  to  lead  while  in  the  hey- 
day of  youth  were  to  take  part  in  another  and  a  greater 
conquest,  the  peaceful  one  of  the  material  resources  of 
an  undivided  country. 

Wherever  Volilla  went  there  was  a  pathway  of  si- 
lence. "Shut  up,  boys!  A  lady!"  the  voices  sang  out 
in  a  warning,  which  the  worst  rowdy  obeyed  with  a 
spirit  he  perhaps  had  never  shown  in  saluting  the 
commanding  general  himself.  With  caps  in  hand 
and  bowed  heads  they  waited  for  her  to  pass. 

The  Vagabond  led  her  to  the  spot  where  his  own 
company  was  resting. 

"If  you'll  wait  here,"  he  said,  "I'll  see  what  can  be 
done  about  hastening  you  on  your  journey." 

In  his  absence,  Tim  Booker,  turned  gallant,  ar- 
ranged a  chair  out  of  saddles  for  her  and  insisted  on 
swathing  her  skirts  in  blankets,  which  he  did  with  a 
skill  and  confidence  that  was  the  envy  of  poor  Jimmy 
Pool,  who  was  helpless  in  the  presence  of  any  woman 
except  his  old  mother.  In  this  position  she  was  served 
with  a  plate  of  soldiers'  fare  and  coffee  in  a  tin  cup. 

"Coffee!  Coffee — real  coffee!"  she  said;  and 
smiled  her  thanks  in  a  way  that  made  Timothy  ready 
to  take  orders  from  her  for  all  time.  "You  see,  the 
blockade  kept  it  away  from  us.  It  is  so  good!" 

"That's  about  the  only  mess  we've  got  left.  We 
468 


THE    VAGABOND 

gave  the  rest  to  Fitz  Lee's  men  this  morning.  How 
in  thunder  the  Johnnies  kept  on  fighting  without 
coffee  beats  me.  Only  way  I  can  explain  it  is  that 
they  chewed  enough  tobacco  to  make  up  for  it.  To- 
bacco chewing's  a  bad  habit,  but  it's  done  a  lot  for 
American  courage  in  this  war.  I  always  put  in  a  fresh 
cud  when  we  started  on  a  charge ;  kept  it  on  my  sabre- 
hand  side,  too.  Once,  when  I  didn't,  I  got  into  a 
peck  of  trouble.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was." 

Thereupon,  this  villain,  his  imagination  flowing  as 
fast  as  his  tongue  could  bear  the  words,  launched  into 
a  tale  of  how  a  small  Confederate  had  outplayed  him 
in  every  particular  and  he  was  rescued  only  by  the 
arrival  of  the  rest  of  the  company. 

"I'd  like  to  see  that  little  fellow  just  once  more," 
Tim  mused. 

"Do  you  bear  him  malice?"  she  asked. 

"Malice?  Me?  I  want  to  shake  his  hand.  He's 
just  the  kind  of  a  man  we  need  out  at  our  mine.  Good 
men  are  scarce.  The  best  way  to  find  'em  is  in  a  fight, 
and  we've  found  an  army  of  'em  over  there." 

Jimmy  Pool,  who  had  been  suffering  in  the  back- 
ground, now  advanced.  He  did  not  know  exactly 
what  he  ought  to  do,  but,  on  consideration,  he  stiffened 
and  saluted. 

"Miss,"  he  said,  "that's  right — right,  hat  and  boots. 
We  feel  like  it  was  a  Thanksgiving  dinner  where  we 
had  patched  up  the  family  quarrel;  and  when  the 
men  that  did  the  fighting  feel  that  way,  the  rest  of 
the  country  ought  to.  I  hope  you'll  excuse  us  for 
not  looking  very  trim,  and  not  being  shaved,  or  any- 
thing decent.  If  we'd  known  you  were  coming,  we'd 
had  boots  and  saddles,  at  any  rate.  I'm  making  an 

469 


THE  VAGABOND 

excuse  for  every  man  in  the  company.  They  all  feel 
like  me — a  little  embarrassed." 

Indeed,  the  men,  instead  of  staring,  had  drawn 
away  from  the  group,  stroking  their  stubbly  chins. 

"You  see,  we're  going  home,  besides — and  that 
seeming  too  good  to  be  true  makes  us  all  a  little  un- 
certain of  whether  we  are  awake  or  dreaming," 
Timothy  continued.  "My  home  is  almost  anywhere 
in  sight  of  the  eternal  hills  of  California.  The  first 
time  I  ever  saw  the  Sierras  I  took  off  my  hat  and 
said:  'Tim  Booker,  you've  found  your  everlasting 
earthly  home,  and  the  good  Lord  needn't  pass  you 
on  to  Paradise  with  an  intention  of  beautifying  your 
surroundings.'  I  didn't  expect  that  I  would  ever  see 
them  again,  but  I  kept  hoping  I  would  just  for  the 
pleasure  of  it.  It  isn't  that  we've  won  battles  that 
makes  us  so  happy,  it's  the  fact  that  we  can  be  our- 
selves again." 

Meanwhile,  the  Vagabond,  hastening  toward  the 
head-quarters  of  his  brigade,  came  face  to  face  with 
Richard  Bulwer.  Though  his  garments  were  thread- 
bare, multi-patched,  and  lacking  any  insignia  of  rank, 
the  Virginian  still  had  that  air  of  quiet  distinction 
which  nothing  could  efface.  Without  waiting  on 
ceremony,  the  Vagabond  seized  his  hand,  and  said : 

"I've  thought  ever  since  that  afternoon  we  met 
on  the  porch  of  Lanleyton  that  when  the  war  was  over 
you  and  I  could  be  friends — that  we  understood  each 
other.  Some  day  you  will  see  that  this  is  your  vic- 
tory as  much  as  ours,  and  possibly  your  glory  even 
more  than  ours." 

"It  isn't  far  from  Washington  to  Richmond,  and 
470 


THE  VAGABOND 

it  took  you  four  years  to  make  the  journey,"  Bulwer 
replied.  "That  is  some  satisfaction  in  this  trying 
hour.  As  I  read  the  Constitution,  it  was  the  United 
States  are.  Now  it  is  the  United  States  is  by  the  de- 
cision of  a  court  from  which  there  is  no  appeal — 
that  of  war.  I  hope  that  I  may  serve  the  undivided 
country,  which  still  includes  the  land  of  my  fathers, 
as  faithfully  as  I  served  the  Confederacy.  There 
is  work — so  much  work  to  he  done !"  Hete  he  threw 
off  all  reserve  and  seemed  to  share  the  Vagabond's 
enthusiasm.  "And  there  is  no  one  whom  I  would 
rather  meet  than  you.  You  stand  for  an  idea  which 
the  war  has  made  me  appreciate.  I  have  often 
thought  of  you  and  what  you  said  of  the  fascination 
of  taking  wealth  out  of  the  hills  and  turning  it  to 
the  good  of  the  race  and  the  honor  of  the  country. 
My  mother  is  always  singing  the  praises  of  another 
side  of  your  character,  which  is  still  more  important. 
I  am  going  to  Lynchburg  for  her  this  afternoon.  And 
when  I  have  taken  her  and  Volilla  back  to  the  plan- 
tation and  we  have  bread  on  the  table  again,  you  must 
come  and  tell  us  more  about  California." 

"Miss  Lanley  is  here  with  my  company.  I — I  am 
going  to  furnish  her  an  escort  to  Lanleyton.  I — I  am 
going  with  her,  myself,  if  she  will  permit  me." 

"There  is  no  Lanleyton!"  Bulwer  exclaimed,  with 
surprise. 

"Yes,  there  is — or  as  good  a  substitute  as  can  be 
made."  The  Vagabond  explained. 

"You  are  magnificent — magnificent!  But — but 
that  would  make  no  difference  with  her." 

"I  knew  it  would  not.  I  don't  want  it  to — please 
understand  me!" 

471 


THE  VAGABOND 

"Ah,  I  am  the  victor,  after  all.  My  battle  is  won. 
I  know  that  the  girl  whom  I  met  when  I  was  on  re- 
cruiting duty  in  Alabama  is  waiting  for  me.  And 
you — I  fear  you  will  be  the  defeated  one.  Volilla 
cannot  forgive  the  past,  unless  she  is  even  deeper  than 
I  thought." 

When  the  Vagabond  returned  to  his  company  he 
brought  the  news  that  he  had  a  month's  leave. 

"You  can't  reach  Richmond  to-night,  but  you  can 
find  accommodations  on  the  way,"  he  said  to  Volilla. 
"You  can  be  in  Richmond  early  to-morrow  morning, 
and  I've  arranged  for  yourself,  and  also  to  put  Folly 
on  the  train,  so  you'll  be  in  Lanleyton  before  to-mor- 
row night.  Are  you  ready  ?  Shall  we  go  now  ?" 

He  sounded  that  "we"  fearfully.  It  stood  for  his 
decision,  which  meant  that  he  had  succumbed  to  the 
temptation  of  being  with  her.  She  looked  at  him  as 
if  her  eyes,  if  not  her  lips,  were  already  framing  a 
"No."  Expecting  to  find  Yankee  soldiers  gloating 
over  her  fallen  countrymen,  she  had  found  a  fellow- 
ship on  equal  terms.  To  this  and  to  the  diplomacy  of 
the  renowned  Timothy  Booker  he  owed  her  consent. 

"It  little  matters  how  I  get  there,  so  that  I  get  there 
as  soon  as  possible;"  for  once  on  her  own  land,  she 
felt  that  she  would  no  longer  be  in  the  enemy's  camp. 

As  they  rode  away,  the  men  rose  out  of  respect.  One 
started  to  call  for  a  cheer  for  their  leader,  but  desisted, 
fearing  that  it  would  be  indelicate,  considering  that 
she  was  a  Confederate.  Scarcely  a  word  passed  be- 
tween the  two  for  the  rest  of  that  afternoon.  He 
feared,  as  before,  to  have  any  mocking  reply  break 
the  spell  of  the  enchantment  of  her  presence.  To  him 

472 


THE  VAGABOND 

there  was  no  material  of  war  or  soldiers  by  the  way- 
side. He  rode  through  a  peaceful  valley,  walled  with 
fruit  and  grain  and  verdure,  the  title  thereto  in  her 
name,  and  her  name  his.  Thus  he  dreamed  while  he 
might,  with  the  horror  of  waking  near,  and  Marcus 
keeping  at  a  respectful  distance,  his  brow  corrugated 
with  perplexity. 

The  houses  of  the  village  where  they  spent  the 
night  were  full  of  wounded  men.  Upon  the  appear- 
ance of  a  lady,  the  occupants  of  a  small  room  in- 
sisted that  they  were  well  enough  to  be  moved,  or 
to  sit  up,  if  there  was  no  other  place  for  hen  A 
nurse,  delicately  considerate  of  an  enemy's  suscepti- 
bilities, and  praising  Confederate  heroism,  shared  her 
quarters  with  the  stranger.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were 
a  welcome  guest  whose  fame  for  good  deeds  had  pre- 
ceded her,  instead  of  an  enemy.  Before  she  slept  she 
still  better  understood  the  spirit  of  the  Northern  sol- 
diers themselves  toward  their  late  adversaries.  Con- 
tact had  taken  much  of  the  bitterness  out  of  her  heart, 
which  is  stronger  with  the  woman,  who  may  only 
bear,  than  with  the  man,  who  can  strike  back,  and, 
therefore,  forgive  the  more  readily  when  the  conflict 
is  over.  She  promised  herself  that  she  would  try  to 
take  up  her  heavy  burden  without  ill-will. 

"Dawn  was  not  too  early  for  you  formerly.  I  hope 
it  is  not  now,"  said  the  Vagabond,  when  they  were  in 
the  saddle  again. 

"It  is  not,"  she  replied,  casually. 

Silence  was  again  welcome;  and  while  he  was  en- 
grossed in  his  illusions,  she  was  engrossed  in  thought. 

Through  the  outskirts  and  then  through  the  streets 
of  stricken  Richmond  they  passed  without  further  ex- 

473 


THE  VAGABOND 

change  of  words.  At  the  station,  crowded  with  re- 
turning soldiers  and  incoming  supplies,  he  left  her 
with  Marcus  Aurelius  while  he  had  the  horses  en- 
trained. In  the  car,  she  insisted  in  vain  that  the 
wounded  officers  should  remain  seated  while  she 
stood,  for  insistence  meant  that  every  place  would  be 
vacant.  They  knew  by  her  voice  that  she  was  a  Vir- 
ginian, and  they  guessed  that  she  was  returning  to 
some  devastated  plantation.  She  felt  the  mute  expres- 
sion of  their  sympathy  by  look  and  action.  The  Vaga- 
bond, grown  pale,  his  lips  tightly  compressed,  was 
wishing  that  two  of  the  passengers  might  never  arrive 
at  their  station. 

When  he  assisted  her  to  alight,  and  again  when  he 
assisted  her  to  mount  Folly,  he  could  not  have  spoken 
if  he  would.  His  throat  seemed  in  a  vise,  and  his  head 
was  dizzy  from  his  heart's  fast  beating.  His  ears  were 
awaiting' the  ominous  warning  that  she  could  go  the 
rest  of  the  way  alone,  which  did  not  come.  Her  man- 
ner was  as  preoccupied  as  his,  and  he  took  silence  for 
consent.  Both  stared  into  space,  the  horses  choosing 
their  own  gait.  Every  step  was  marking  off  a  second 
of  the  few  minutes  left  to  him.  When  they  were  so 
near  that  a  dozen  rods  farther  would  show  them  the 
tops  of  the  trees  of  Lanleyton,  he  made  his  cast. 

"I  love  you!  I  love  you!  I  cannot  wait!  I  must 
know!"  he  cried. 

Slowly  she  turned  her  face  toward  him.  It  was 
radiant  with  the  smile  that  had  been  the  Mecca  of  his 
fancy.  She  held  out  her  hand.  No  words  could  be 
fraught  with  such  grace  as  the  confession  of  one  whose 
battle  against  her  affection  had  been  its  noblest  justi- 
fication. 

474 


THE    VAGABOND 

"There  are  some  things  a  woman  cannot  help, 
dear,"  she  said. 

A  hand-clasp!  A  hand-clasp,  followed  by  the 
mightiest,  most  cherished  silence  of  all,  in  which  they 
tried  to  measure  with  young  vision  first  scanning 
grandeur  the  heights  of  their  joy.  Dear !  That  word 
so  well  expresses  nearness  and  possession.  If  dream- 
ers they  were  by  others'  canons,  the  sweeter  the 
greedily  kept  secret  of  that  story  which  explained  all. 
"Some  things  a  woman  cannot  help!"  And  a  man 
cannot  help ! 

He  had  forgotten  the  surprise  he  had  prepared  for 
her  until  the  white  pillars  of  the  new  Lanleyton 
gleamed  through  the  trees,  as  those  of  the  old  had  on 
that  day  four  years  before  when  he  had  ridden  forth 
with  a  story  to  tell. 

"O — I — I!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  saw  the  ashes  my- 
self! How — how  can  it  be?" 

"A  fairy  worked  while  you  were  away." 

"You!  You — you!"  She  reached  out  her  hand 
to  his  clasp  again. 

"A  rough  soldier  fairy,  dear,"  he  added. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  say  then,  her  heart  being 
too  full  of  happiness,  her  eyes  too  full  of  all  the  famil- 
iar surroundings,  as  they  rode  on  along  the  road  and 
up  the  drive  (where  they  saw  Felicia  on  the  porch 
beaming  over  a  telegram  that  announced  the  Judge 
safe  and  well).  When  she  alighted  it  was  in  his  arms. 
Her  fingers  were  running  through  his  hair,  his  lips 
were  kissing  her  tear-wet  lids. 

"You  did  all  this  for  me — for  me,  in  the  face  of 
everything!"  she  said,  in  that  abandon  of  a  nature 
which  is  prodigal  'of  riches  to  a  single  soul  alone. 

475 


THE  VAGABOND 

"You  did  not  let  me  know  about  the  house.  You 
asked  me  before  I  knew.  You  wanted  me  for  myself 
alone!  You  have  always  loved  me!  I  have  always 
been  the  only  one!  It  is  too  good,  too  good!  How 
1  fought  against  you !  I  used  to  stuff  my  ears  at  night 
to  keep  out  the  sound  of  your  voice  telling  your  story. 
I  loved  you  first  then — no,  no !  I  loved  you  when  you 
didn't  let  me  take  you  prisoner!  There  was  no  war! 
There  is  only  you!" 

"We  needed  a  house  for — for  our  honeymoon," 
he  suggested. 

"No!  no!  Let  us  go  to  the  mine  for  our  honey- 
moon. The  mine — that  is  yours,  you  see.  I'm  to 
wait  under  the  shade  of  the  tree  on  the  plateau  and 
you're  to  bring  me  the  gold." 

"And  there  will  be  new  mines  and  new  tasks — 
and  you,  always." 

"Always !" 

While  she  went  from  room  to  room,  with  words  oi 
delight  for  his  thoughtfulness  in  restoring  every  fa- 
miliar article  that  could  be  procured,  Marcus  Aure- 
lius  was  digging  up  certain  garments  that  he  had 
buried  in  a  box  in  the  garden.  When  he  announced 
dinner  that  night,  his  face  was  shining  from  overmuch 
soap  and  water,  and  he  wore  the  snuff-colored,  brass- 
buttoned  spiketail  of  Parisian  memory.  Contrary  to 
his  prophecy,  he  did  not  drop  dead  with  delight,  prob- 
ably because  he  did  not  want  any  upstart  to  take  his 
place  behind  his  new  master's  chair. 

THE  END 


476 


A     000127374     7 


